


Good Enough

by blackswans22



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Binge Drinking, Canon, Drama, F/M, Family Issues, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mentors, Post-Dragon Ball Super, Secret Relationship, Sex, Siblings, Truten, Unrequited Love, be mindful of the tags, but not smut, did I mention drama?, father-son problems, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22
Summary: Trunks has always been sure of himself in all areas of his life. He knows who he is and what he wants, so why does everything keep going wrong? Broken hearts, self-inflicted pressure, and a best friend who muddles the lines of their relationship certainly doesn't help. After one unfortunate event he's forced to look in the mirror, and finally confront who is staring back at him.
Relationships: Son Goten/Valese, Trunks Briefs & Son Goten, Trunks Briefs/Marron, Trunks Briefs/Son Goten
Comments: 130
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Embarassedbutkinky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embarassedbutkinky/gifts).



> This fic has been a work in progress for over a year and finally, Im comfortable with releasing it. After many many many many tentative sharing with other amazing writers and readers, Im excited to post something that is very near and dear to my heart. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> ~Blackswans22
> 
> I want to thank VagusVagus, Rogue_1102, AreoIan, Lady Red, Sevargs, Lachanophobic, Usagi, Ni21, and so many others who took the time to read and review this work. 
> 
> Special thanks to EBK who went through this whole agonizing concept with me for weeks. Thank you for rereading like 10 drafts before the final product. ;)
> 
> I am so appreciative of all the support and encouragement from all these amazing people. Thank you for being the gems that you are. You have no idea how invaluable your friendship is to me.

**Chapter 0**

_The time here has been...rough. To say the least. Everyone knows but they look at me like I haven’t done anything wrong. Their abject acceptance makes it so much worse._

_Being in the same home as you, the same paths you used to run, the river we used to play in. It’s almost annoying how much I can feel your presence._

_I guess here is better than the alternative._

_I love you._

_I always have._

_I’ve been inside your head. Being in the same body more than once, fighting and practically dying. We went through so much as kids. More than we should have. I wouldn’t take any of it back._

_You were always there for me. Through everything. I know I’ve been selfish. I’m sorry about the accident._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I hope you can forgive me._

  
  


**Chapter 1**

It had been unusually cool for most of the summer in West City, lousy with rainfall. The end to a 5-year drought. Guess complaining about the weather was about the biggest event to find unpleasant enough within those 5 years. 

In the past, the horrors that rocked the little planet- Cell, the Androids, the Red Ribbon Army- subsided for a while like it tended to do with ebbs and flows before the next big threat to humanity struck. The last memorable event of note, Buu, ended with the pink monster subdued, and the world’s protectors taking to their own corners, meeting up on the rare occasion while the world rested in peaceful slumber. 

Some, like the patriarchal Saiyans, maintained their vigilance. They cited the inability to sit still from the countless battles to be won raging in their minds as the physical realm maintained its surface serenity. Trunks admired his father and Goku for that. The pure dedication and regimancy of a Saiyan warrior passed down through their unique genetic code. And while the younger, more laidback of the two scratched the itch for blood every once in a while, Trunks’ father, Vegeta, chose every day, well mostly every day, to devote his time in keeping his skills perfect, disciplined and ready for the next time the Earth faced a peril, for it always did at some point. As the 19-year-old son to one of the Earth’s greatest defenders, Trunks was at least grateful his dad only nagged him every other day to get his shit together.

“Hey, Mom? Where’s the rest of the pizza?” Trunks asked, pilfering through several half-empty boxes piled on the counter. There were 6 boxes. He had expected at least 3 for himself and his company. 

“Since when do you need more than this?” Vegeta mocked, taking bites from two slices on top of each other, loaded with proteins and cheese. After a trying day within his precious gravity room, Vegeta had the snarky smirk knowing he’d earned his reward. “I don't see you making any attempt at working off all these calories.”

Trunks pulled a similar face in response. “Just because I don't live at the gym doesn’t mean I’m not still Saiyan, old man. I’m growing.” He teased back, transferring wayward slices from various boxes into one. A short, blue-haired head ducked under one of his arms to transfer a couple of slices into her mouth. “Bulla!”

“At this rate, you’re growing more out than up.” He remarked, watching his five-year-old daughter flee the kitchen with a giggle. 

“I could still kick your ass.” Trunks muttered slyly.

“Is that a challenge, boy?”

“Stop, both of you. I’ll order more. Gods, the testosterone in this house,” Bulma chided, rubbing her husband on the back like soothing a puffed-up cat. “Why do you need so much anyway?”

“Goten’s coming over.” He declared rather jovially. 

Vegeta scoffed. “Ah, the other half to a full idiot. I don't understand why you willingly choose to fraternize with Kakarot’s brat so much. You are aware we are in times of peace? We don't need to have the clown’s offspring hover around our space so frequently.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s beneath me. He’s dim. He squanders his abilities. I get it. He’s also my best friend, Dad. At some point, you’re going to have to accept that.”

“Is he still related to a third class imbecile?”

“The jokes never get old. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Shaking his head, he collected his loot and made to exit as he heard Vegeta muttering something about the consequences of feeding stray animals.

He felt his Mom catch him at the crook of his arm. “Don't take it too seriously, honey. Your Dad loves Goten.” She whispered with a smile.

He couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “I don't think that’s true. But I do know insults are a way for Dad to express his affection. It’s okay, Mom, really.” He chuckled.

He reassured her with a soft pat in her hand before heading upstairs and tidying up his room somewhat, clearing away dirty dishes and stray clothing littering the floor. He made sure to unlock his window and pull it wide. It had been years and years since Bulma insisted Goten use the front door like any member of the family. Growing up, though, it just seemed possibly more fun for Goten to use the window like when they were kids. The world may have changed since they were in their youth fighting for their lives against evil forces but nothing had really changed the foundation of their friendship.

* * *

“So,” Goten began casually. The older half Saiyan cocked a lilac eyebrow at the telltale subtly of the tone, noting the actual curiosity hidden underneath. It was the first thing the younger teen had said since he entered Trunks’s room in over an hour. 

_This outta be good,_ Trunks thought as he sat up a little straighter on the dark blue sofa at one end of his large room facing the television. He placed his phone down gently beside him and waited.

Seated on the floor with his back against the couch, Goten’s attention was partially focused on the tv screen, a racing game on the display, the controller in his hands moving subconsciously to the turns. He let his jaw hang open as the images flickered across his face before continuing his train of thought. 

“I heard that you’re dating Marron.” The younger teen said with fake disinterest. His eyes were glued to the screen but for the number of times his car veered off track, Trunks could tell his attention was elsewhere.

“Who told you?” Trunks queried airily.

“No one,” Goten replied in haste.

Trunks smirked at how terribly Goten tried to lie. “Was it your Mom? I’ll bet it was your Mom.”

With a groaning sigh, the younger teen paused the game after placing last. “I overheard. It’s true, then?”

“Yup. A month.” He pulled up his phone and displayed a risque picture of their childhood friend in a tee shirt and black underwear.

“Wow,” Goten said while raising an eyebrow, impressed. 

Holding out the phone a minute longer, he observed Goten’s face drop somewhat in thought. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He finally asked.

Adjusting himself back onto the flat cushions of the couch, Trunks shrugged his shoulders while flicking through more private images of the blonde. “Am I supposed to tell you everything?”

“No,” Goten mumbled, dejected. “But having a girlfriend seems like information I would think friends share.”

“I didn’t think we were that close.” Trunks teased, ruffling the mop of hair he could reach.

Goten reciprocated by punching the older teen in the arm with a grin. “Aw, shut up.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Trunks typing out a text and scrolling through photos while Goten paused and unpaused the game intermittently, his gaze distant. “A month’s a long time.” He mused aloud.

“Yup.”

He finally placed the controller on the floor, gingerly, and turned his head to stare at the wall just to the left of Trunks’ head, avoiding eye contact. “You guys hook up yet?” He blurted quickly then turned a shade of pink.

With an upturn of his mouth, Trunks moved his face so it obstructed Goten’s view of the wall. “Again, I didn’t think we were that close.” He grinned as he placed his hands salaciously through Goten’s hair. “Yea, man. All the time. She can’t keep her hands off me.” Trunks pulled hard, then let go with an obnoxious chortle. 

“Such a liar.” 

The older teen continued to laugh. “No. Not yet. Everything else though.” He added with a sly smirk.

Goten smiled to himself while picking at his cuticles. “Nice. She’s a cool chick. Honestly, I didn’t think either of us would date her. She’s like a sister to me.”

“Not to me. She’s hot.”

“Yea. Bet 18’s pissed. You’re not really the best influence.” 

Trunks snorted wryly. That was true. And everyone in their circle knew it. “They’d be surprised ‘bout her though. Their daughter’s not so innocent. The things she does.” He hummed wistfully.

Goten’s voice became low and contemplative. “You know, my dad told me Krillin kinda wanted her to be with me when we all grew up. Our dads being best friends and all.” He said sincerely, without malice. 

Trunks sat up and rested his head in his palm, elbow propped up on the cushion. He had considered something similar when she first asked him on a date. 

Ever since the three of them were kids, Marron had been a little on the sweet side, not the type of girl Trunks typically found interest in. He preferred ones that could handle a little danger every once in a while. Girls that rode motorcycles and shoved bottles of whiskey down the front of his pants in liquor stores while knowing full well he was underage and could afford it. Those types, however, he found were often flighty or reckless, more so than he wanted. Goten, on the other hand, picked girls that were considered part of the 'populars', where the only ‘bad’ things they did were ditching school to hang out at the mall or shoplift eyeliner and preserve their fleeting high school reputations. Girls like Valese. Or Marron. 

Trunks regarded his best friend, noting the slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m glad she’s with you. You guys make a nice-looking couple.” He said hushed. Trunks heard him swallow thickly. 

It was then Goten turned completely and faced him, honest and trusting visage bare. Trunks couldn’t help feeling somewhat exposed at the odd longing in his tone. “You’re both so.. you know.. attractive.”

Trunks furrowed his brows, perplexed, as he watched the dark eyes that stared back blinked slowly, once. A subtle cue. 

“What are you getting at?” Trunks replied, trying to process the odd signal and noting the short distance between them. 

“ _You_ and her. Look good together. Unlike me. _You_ …” He trailed off. 

_How could Goten think he wasn’t worthy of someone like Marron._ He blinked twice. _With his angular jawline, unruly soft hair, long lashes that framed warm and welcoming eyes._ By the third time, the blush appeared and Trunks’ gaze fell to his lips. 

On impulse, he closed his eyes as he pressed his own lips tentatively to his friend’s.

Unlike kissing Marron, his friend’s mouth lacked the plump smoothness of lipgloss. The wetting before being pressed together. Instead, they were slightly rough, a hint of upper lip stubble and tense from the foreign contact. Only their lips touched, the rest of their bodies stayed separated, alert and unsure of what was too far.

As they broke apart at a distance of a few inches, Trunks observed Goten exhale through his nose roughly, eyes wide. Inside, alarm prickled across his skin, worrying if he misread the signals. Until Goten smashed his mouth to his impassioned, running his hands into the back of Trunks’ hair and holding his face as close as possible while planting hot, breathy kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Initially surprised at his fervor, Trunks responded by grasping the front of the younger man’s shirt and closing the distance of their chests.

For as long as he could remember, Trunks had always felt a sense of possessiveness, a protective barrier, between himself and anything that had the potential to harm his best friend. He figured for years, the feeling was due to being older and regarding the younger as a brother he was hellbound to defend. As they aged, he noticed more and more the subtle mannerisms he adored from the littlest Son, the clench of fists behind his back when he didn't want to show his temper, his gentle approach to wild animals to assuage their fear of man, the crinkle at his eyes when he laughed until he cried. Trunks filed these moments away to return to when he felt lonely and needed solace. 

Lost in the moment, Trunks felt the pressure at the front of his jeans, panicked, then pulled away panting and embarrassed only to be taken aback again as Goten grinned and laughed lightly. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He said as he wiped his mouth across his sleeve. 

Dumbfounded, Trunks couldn’t find the words in response. 

The years in each other’s shadow morphed into attraction of which Trunks believed was only one-sided. To find out Goten felt some similar desire as well was mind-boggling. The next words out of his mouth nearly shattered his resolve.

“Can I touch you?” Goten asked, dark eyes searching for approval while flitting to Trunks’ waist and the erection that hadn't gone down.

A deep crimson formed across his face as he managed to whisper ‘yes’ which came out more warily guarded than he liked. 

Brought up to hold pride and valor above all else made Trunks uneasy in any situation resembling vulnerability, which could turn to humiliation. His trust in Goten was absolute, yet it did mean he would still be cautious in uncomfortable situations. Having his friend unbutton his jeans, drag the zipper down noisily and place his bare hand on Trunks’ pubic bone before disappearing down the front of his boxers, all while maintaining eye contact, was tremendously uncomfortable. That is, until strong fingers wrapped themselves around his dick with unabashed firmness. 

His eyes rolled to the back of his head, mouth hung agape, as the hand gripped and tugged experimentally at first, then at a steady, luxuriant pace once saliva lubricated the surface of his friend’s pale palm. He had almost forgotten who it was that held him with such delicious force, akin to his own hand, until a husky voice cut through the rhythmic sound of his own heavy breathing.

“Is this okay?” The query made Trunks flinch. It was identical in tone to the curious inquiry she would ask when her hands gripped him too lightly, unpracticed, unsure. As Marron was a willing participant, she lacked the familiar organ. Trunks realized the perfect pace and grip was from his friend’s own _personal_ experience. He didn’t want to imagine Goten that way. He didn’t want to compare techniques, despite one being vastly superior. 

“Don’t talk.” Trunks whispered without thinking. He knitted his brows over his still shut eyes as he felt the pace begin to slow. “Keep going.” He directed. 

The buildup of sensitivity loomed and for a fraction of a second, he felt wrong. Was this cheating? It didn't mean anything, he was sure. However if the shoe, or hand, was on the other foot, he’d definitely call it cheating. It didn't feel like cheating. It felt fucking wonderful. So why did he keep his eyes closed? 

Trunks arched his back as the twinge of imminent pleasure tickled at the base. He found his voice. “Stop. Stop.” He uttered between his teeth. 

Warm hands let go as he turned to his side and came into the couch cushion with a groan. Rolling back over, he viewed Goten through hair that had fallen over his flushed face. His friend had returned to his previous position, his back to the couch again, only this time, he was staring at his hands, opening and closing them, slow and silent. 

The heat in Trunks’ face burned with both satisfaction and guilt. He cleared his throat as he pulled up his pants awkwardly. 

“I have a girlfriend,” was all that came out in the stillness. 

“I know.” 

“This went too far.” Trunks muttered, sitting up and placing his head in his hands. What would he tell her? What would she think? How the fuck did this happen? “I have to go to the bathroom.” He said, getting up suddenly and closing the door with a loud click behind him. 

After cleaning up what he considered evidence, he ran the faucet and splashed water on his face. The sound of his bedroom door on the outside distinctly opening then closing informed him of Goten’s departure. 

_It was nothing. It meant nothing. I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend. Nothing happened,_ he concluded with a stern look at himself in the mirror above the sink. As he trudged back into his room with heavy steps, the smell of his spent permeated the space, churning his stomach into knots. Trunks picked up the phone off the couch with a grimace and dialed.

“Hey, babe.” He heard her say across the line, cheerful and unaware.

“Hey. I want to see you.” Trunks responded monotonously.

“Okay. Well, you can come to my house. My parents are gone for the next two days.” Her voice lilting in hinted excitement.

“Great. Do you need me to bring anything?” He picked up a throw pillow and covered the wet spot on the couch. “Protection?” He added, turning his back to his shame.

“Uh, sure,” Marron replied, a halt to her voice. “You want to?” She implied tentatively.

“Yea. I’ll be there in an hour, okay?”

“Okay. See you soon, baby.” 

He hung up, took a long breath and threw open the top drawer of his bureau. Digging around, he retrieved an unopened box of condoms, packed a few items of clothing into a duffel, tossed the box inside. Saying goodbye to his mom, Trunks took off towards Marron’s, hellbent on forgetting the feel of _his_ hands with the feel of himself between her legs. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years later_

The city was far too noisy for his taste. Having grown up a country bumpkin on a sparsely populated mountainside did not sufficiently prepare him for all the cars, congestion, smog, people or the smells. Worse still was the neverending noise. If he was perfectly honest, he would have been much happier in a smaller town or province just outside the monstrous, metal metropolis. Gods willing, he could learn to adjust to the city from his current residence at Mt. Paozu. He did it to make her happy. One had to make concessions when they were in love. Or thought so, anyways.

There was a growing headache forming behind his eyes from walking around the bustling streets all day. Goten had made a promise to his girlfriend Valese to find an apartment not too far from hers so they could enjoy city life together. For her, he’d make the sacrifice. And, damnit, he was going to find one. Today.

As he perused the ads for roommates and single apartments in downtown West City, more than half the listings were either too expensive or had some questionable stipulations to adhere to. He scratched his head of short black hair coiffed in a forward wave with perturbation at some of the listings.

Goten thought of himself as rather forgiving in nature and tried to look past some of the ads that asked for roommates to live with ‘single elderly woman with cockatoo’, ‘5 dudes, 1 shower’, or ‘religious household looking for one more to add to the flock’. A couple ‘looking for discrete roommate-no cops’ sounded weirdly promising as he dawdled at the corner of a busy intersection, waiting for the little electric pedestrian man to blink. 

It was then he felt a strangely familiar jolt across his mind. A signature energy in a sea of faceless people reverberated like a personalized fingerprint just behind him that he suddenly pivoted on his heel and tilted his head with a soft, surprised grin at seeing a friendly face he hadn’t seen in a long while.

Attired in a dark grey sport coat and slacks while carrying an obnoxious amount of pink and white boutique bags, Goten had hardly recognized the man at even the short distance away. It was the light purple hair tied back in a short ponytail, tan complexion and blue eyes that were a dead give away in the crowd. Goten grinned wider and pulsed his ki just high enough, hoping to get the other halfling’s attention.

Appearing to have worked, the purple-haired man stopped mid-step in the middle of the sidewalk to look over in a startled daze, forcing people to walk around him with irritated strides. 

It was almost unfair for someone to look so striking even when absolutely dumbstruck.

The face that gawked back had wisened somewhat, slightly taller, and filled out in noticeable muscle definition. Goten waved in a gawky fashion while still smiling. 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Trunks broke out in a huge toothy grin.

“Holy shit. Hey, man.” He said before dropping the bags on the ground and bringing his oldest friend into a one-armed pat. It wasn’t lost on the younger demiSaiyan with how breathless he sounded. 

Goten returned the hug then pulled back after a moment before placing his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans. “Hey yourself. How you been?” 

“Doing okay. Busy.” He replied, tucking strands of loose lavender hair behind his ears. 

As Goten snickered softly, a woman in a white and black a-line dress walked out of the boutique, turned and gasped. Her wide eyes sparkled with excitement and wavy blond hair swished at her quick-paced gait towards the two men.

“Goten!” She cried jovially as she embraced him warmly and more openly than he had with Trunks. “Gods, how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever!” She gushed, picking up the abandoned gifts off the sidewalk. Trunks gave an apologetic smile.

“It’s been a little bit. How are you, Marron?” 

“I’m great! Doing some birthday shopping. Hard to do when I have to drag this guy away from work.” She playfully elbowed Trunks in the ribs. 

Trunks chuckled in response while rolling his eyes. “What can I say? Capsule is a cruel, demanding mistress.”

“Happy birthday, Mar.” 

“Thanks. What about you? I haven’t seen you in… a couple years, I think.” She remarked casually. 

Goten nodded in solemn agreement as he caught Trunks’ smile gradually fade to an almost guilty awareness out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m good. Working a lot. I, uh, work for Mark.” 

Marron drew her eyebrows together bemused. “Mark Satan?”

“Mhm. As a bodyguard.” He pinched his lips together as he restrained a laugh.

Trunks snorted, playfully sardonic. “Champion of the world needs a bodyguard?”

“He’s gettin’ on in his old age. Videl hooked me up. Pays really well. Honestly, I think she just helped out so that I can entertain the old guy by crushing chairs and tables he doesn’t like. He says it’s ‘remodeling’. Sure.” Goten shook his head with a snigger.

Marron giggled. “I’ll bet she appreciates her brother-in-law keeping an eye on him.”

“I keep him from hurting himself. Threw out his back a couple weeks ago. Played it off as a new muscle building technique in front of the cameras.” The two burst out laughing as he teasingly mimicked the poses.

“He’ll never change,” Marron replied, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Nope. And we are grateful for him taking one for the team. I can't imagine any of our group lovin’ the publicity as much as he does.” 

Marron softly chuckled as she threaded her slim arm around Trunks’ bicep and rested her head on him in a habitual gesture.

Goten smiled at the sweet affection. “I see you guys are still dating.”

Marron perked up at the mention. “Going on three years. Isn’t that right, honey?” She preened.

“If you say so.” Trunks teased.

She stuck her tongue out as he kissed the top of her head. “How ‘bout you? Dating anyone?”

Goten grinned rather shyly. “Actually, I’m with Valese.” 

“Valese? From high school?” She gaped.

“Mhm. She’s good. We’ve been dating for… I think a year? Don't ask her. She’ll get mad at me for not knowin’.” He gave the typical Son response of a sheepish scratch to the back of his head. “She got a job as a magazine editor here in the city. Some social column thing. I don't really know.” 

His thoughts trailed off and he scrunched his brow. _What did she do, exactly?_ It didn’t really matter, he supposed. She was a safe bet. He could see himself loving her more. A good match, as his mother liked to say. Valese was pretty and kind and successful. They got along and he was confident having her on his arm, chestnut brown hair, eyes like golden honey, and legs for days on a body that wouldn’t quit. 

As he half-listened to Marron chatter about Valese as a teenager, Goten couldn’t help noticing Trunks’ inquisitive look. The older man appeared to assess him in a way that reminded him of their childhoods. It was as if he was searching for something about Goten that he, most of the time, didn’t know about himself. Goten was decent at it when they were younger. That skill came from growing up together and used to be as natural as breathing. Fusion made the unspoken understanding between them easier. _I used to know everything about you_ , Goten ruefully thought. 

It was true they hadn’t seen each other in a little over three years but Goten honestly hadn’t considered just how much distance now existed between them. Or how much that lost time actually hurt. He admitted he missed how close they used to be. He wanted to believe Trunks’ ocean eyes said the same thing. 

Seemingly out of practice, Trunks smirked genially and dropped his gaze. 

Oblivious to the boys, Marron sighed wistfully and clicked her tongue. “That’s great about you and Valese, ‘Ten. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’m just here for the week scoping apartments. Rent is really high. I haven’t found anything really worth mentioning.” He shrugged.

“You’re looking to live here?” Trunks asked, ears perking up. The gears turned quickly behind his eyes as he blurted, “How ‘bout you stay with us?”

Marron let out a light laugh then glanced up at Trunks. She stopped once she realized he wasn’t joking and held a look of incredulous disbelief. He appeared to have not noticed. 

Unsure, Goten drew his brows together at the displeasure written across her face. “Look, man, I appreciate the offer but I can't. I don't want to invade your privacy.”

Wrapping his arm around Marron as she opened her mouth to speak, Trunks interjected, shaking his head at the refusal. “It’s cool. Seriously. Marron and I would love it if you crashed with us. I have a big ass empty apartment downtown. Full kitchen. Extra room for shit I don't need.” He reasoned. 

It sounded amazing. Certainly a lot better than living with a cockatoo or a house full of religious fanatics. Looking over at one of the potential roommates who appeared genuinely uncomfortable, the younger man scrunched his features still unconvinced. Goten wondered if this was just normal behavior for the couple. Certainly working any discussion to his favor was a Trunks move, 100%, while Marron made the minimal effort in trying to argue against him. 

As he mulled it over, Trunks made his closing statement. “Goten, do you have a place yet? No? Then, problem? Meet solution. It’ll be like getting the gang back together. C’mon, we’ve spent far too long living separate lives and I think a good portion of it is my fault. You won’t get a better offer.” He practically sealed the deal with a charming smirk and simpering puppy dog eyes. Typical of the man to sway his proposal so effortlessly. He truly could sell ice in Antarctica with that smile alone. 

Seems Marron wasn’t immune to him either, Goten noted as she rolled her eyes with a smile. 

She sighed, ceding to her boyfriend’s bewitching spell as she turned her focus on the younger man. “If you need a place to stay, please stay with us. Really. It’s okay with me.” 

Her reassurance sounded somewhat insincere but Goten had promised himself to find a place by today. It all happened so fast. One minute, he was saying hello to a friend and the next, he was considering moving in with them. Trunks’ grinning with his professional salesman smile didn’t help. Honestly, if push came to shove, he’d move out and be no worse off than he was then. 

With a small shrug, he nodded in resolved agreement. “Alright. I’m down.”

How bad could it be.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a scorcher getting out of her nice, cool hatchback and stepping into the oven that was West City in the summer. She panted as she strode up the paved walkway quickly to the Capsule entrance, sighing in relief as a frosty blast of AC fluffed up her long blonde hair and around her long legs. Marron dabbed at her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand and looked around the small lobby, unsurprised to find the receptionist absent as it was late afternoon Friday. She punched in her personal family and friends code into the wall intercom and buzzed Bulma’s lab. The screen lit up with frizzy blue hair surrounding a grease-covered face as Bulma beamed.

“Marron! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming over ‘til 5?”

“It’s 5:10, Miss Bulma.” Marron grinned back, also unsurprised that the company’s top inventor, engineer, CEO, and genius extraordinaire had lost track of time. 

“Shoot. I’m late. Vegeta’s not gonna be happy with me. But hey, when is he ever happy.” The heiress waved a hand flippantly with a wry chuckle and unlocked the automatic door between the lobby and the family living quarters before the video went dark.

Without much thought, Marron made her way to the kitchen, passing the covered gardens with bubbling water features and the indoor training room door with a red light bulb above the thick steel portal in the ‘on’ position. 

The vast kitchen gleamed with marbled countertops and a large silver sink, the hum of cleaning bots making their rounds on dirt patrol to and from the kitchen and the living room. The only mess in the kitchen looked like the remains of a half-eaten sandwich amongst a smattering of crumbs that covered the dining table. A large glass with a milk ring at the bottom was left with the finished meal. Marron smiled at the evidence of a little Saiyan princess that, most likely, just ate her late lunch or early dinner and was probably busy playing in her room. Good. That meant Marron wouldn't have to try and figure out how to make an enormous meal for a demi Saiyan child that was prone to tantrums when hangry. That would be tomorrow’s problem.

As she picked up the plate and glass off the table and placed it in the sink, an exhausted-looking Bulma rushed into the kitchen, wet hair up in a towel and dressed in casual t-shirt and jeans. 

“Okay. Took a quick shower, got all our stuff packed. I just need the man and-” she paused and looked around, scoffing in disbelief.  “He’s not here?” The heiress asked incredulously.

“I did see the gravity room light still on when I came in,” Marron replied while shrugging her shoulders like a guilty tattler.

“Ugh. That man. I swear.” The matriarch grumbled. She excused herself and Marron leaned up against the counter as Bulma pulled up the gravity room video from the kitchen coms. “Vegeta! You better get your Saiyan butt out of there, now. We have to go! Marron’s here!”

A grumble and curse from the other end, Bulma closed the feed and fixed her gaze on the young blond with a smile, refocusing her attention. 

“Anyway, Bulla gets up at around 8, she’s not picky with breakfast, lunch or dinner but she will ask for snacks at any given time of the day. We’ve restricted them to 5 a day, no more, and she knows that. Don't let her play you. She’ll also want to watch tv from dawn until dusk but we have parental times on the set so it’ll turn off when she’s reached her allotment. She’ll ask for the password, Kami knows I’ve changed it so many times with her finding out, but don't give it to her. She’s really sneaky so be careful-”

Marron chortled and held up her hands in surrender to the onslaught of instructions. “Bulma, I know. I’ve babysat Bulla before. She and I will be fine for three days. And I know if I have any problems, to call you. Don't worry.” 

“Okay. Okay. You’re right.” She nodded in agreement. She sighed her worrying mother sigh then deferred to a change in subject as they idled. “So how’s Trunks?”

“He’s good. I had a nice birthday a couple months ago. He made it really special.” She preened humbly, twisting the delicate silver bracelet he got for her with absentminded fingers. Another thought popped into her mind. Wouldn’t hurt to get the opinion of an outside source. “Did you hear Goten moved in?”

“I did.” She asked, her voice raising an octave in gossipy interest. Marron couldn't help but notice the heiress’ blue eyebrows raising as well. “How’s that working out?” 

“It’s been good. Goten cooks and cleans, I assume he learned that from Chichi. He’s like a model roommate.” The blond divulged through a plastered smile, allowing her mind to drift. It all happened so fast.

To be perfectly honest, the ‘moving in’ part was a little rough with the lack of defined criteria. In the beginning, she had questions. How long was he going to be there? Why doesn’t he move in with his own girlfriend? How would this affect their relationship? She felt these were valid concerns. She wanted to be heard but didn’t think she was. 

In response, she noticed Trunks treading the fine line of making the living space equitable between three people when it had been comfortably been between only two. She ended up having to commiserate with her boyfriend, admitting that Goten was out on his own, it was cheaper for all to live together, and she really hadn’t seen him in years from lack of trying. The way Trunks had managed her adaptation to a new living arrangement was almost like sexy mind control. She was unsure of his own awareness of how powerful his coy manipulation tactics were although he always seemed to know just what to say or do, particularly in Goten’s defense. 

Eventually, she relented and to her relief after a month’s adjustment, things mellowed. She didn’t know if it was due to actual acceptance or subtle coercion but ultimately, the tea steeped and the three of them dissolved into a homogenous menagerie of childhood friends. As roommates, she truly couldn’t have hoped for anyone better. 

There were times when she wished it was just her and Trunks like it had been for almost a year prior to Goten. However, with how much he worked, he was either absent, distracted or winding down, always a drink in hand. Thankfully, Goten was always up for entertaining her like a doting and caring sibling. He seemed to feel obligated to.

She got along with Goten. She got along with Trunks. And they seem to get along with each other. Really well. Perfect. 

Everything was fine. As long as she didn’t think too hard about it.

Bulma peered at her curiously. “I sense a but.”

Marron dropped her gaze to the floor, finding the tiles far less interrogating than Trunks’ mother. She experienced the sudden urge to get things off her chest. 

“No. I mean, other than the fact I thought living with my boyfriend was living with  _ just _ my boyfriend. Now it’s been 3 months.” She tried not to sound so passive aggressive. “I get it. He needs help to get on his feet. It’s not like he’s gonna live with us forever.” She rationalized half-heartedly.

“And he has that pretty girlfriend. Valese, right?” Bulma proffered. 

Marron held her face still. 

“Actually, they broke up couple weeks ago.”

She maintained the blank facade when disclosing that little detail. The restrictive facial expression reminded herself of her own mother sometimes. She was grateful for the stoic, unemotive family trait that presented itself at the most fitting times. Like now, when she didn’t want to share completely how fucking convenient it was for Trunks to finally find loads of extra time off work while Goten was newly single. She had no evidence. It was all conjecture.

She could feel Bulma searching her. Trying to pry the effect of Goten’s break up out of her with scientific analysis. Bulma finally hummed and tapped her manicured fingernails on the counter apparently finding nothing of interest.

The breakup had affected the group greatly. Goten, absolutely crushed, had resolved to move back to Mt Pauzu, surmising the only reason to be in the city was for his doe-eyed paramour. It took all of 10 minutes for Trunks to convince Goten to stay. Marron had nothing to add. She was never asked for her opinion anyway even when voiced. 

In a way, while in the honeymoon stage of his relationship with Valese, Goten was harmless. A dear friend. An older brother to pal around with. She trusted him.

“So where is Trunks now?” Bulma asked casually over her shoulder, collecting her luggage and arranging them by size against the counter.

Again, Marron put up her front. “He’s with Goten. On a camping trip. For the weekend.”

Bulma hummed again, probably sensing the uncomfortable pause in between the younger woman’s fragmented sentences like a poison gas that floated in the airspace and as long as you didn’t breathe in, didn’t acknowledge its presence, it couldn’t hurt you. She only cared enough to not divulge too much. All speculation. She was overthinking things again. She trusted Trunks with her life. She loved him.

Vegeta finally made his appearance, grumpy and irritated, so the remainder of intrusive questioning veiled as banal banter abruptly ended. 

Her boyfriend’s parents left, the house quiet as her charge played in her room. Marron stood alone in the kitchen reflecting on the conversation. It bothered her that anyone, let alone a trusted friend, could play any sort of role in tension across her relationship. Or why a man, who dates women, could be a threat. It was frustrating that she was made to feel dirty over stray, toxic thoughts.

It was of no use to bring attention to silly accusations that had no basis. She brought a nail to her teeth and chewed in ponderance, wondering how to let Bulla down gently that she wouldn't be able to do manicures this time around. Over the past 2 weeks, every one of her nails had been bitten and bleeding to the nub and she didn’t want to bring any questioning attention to them. 


	4. Chapter 4

Marron remembered the first time she noticed her picture was in one of those gossip magazines. Trunks had taken her to the beach and she bounced around in the water in a red and white polka dot bikini as her boyfriend of a year at the time tried to dunk her. She’d come up sputtering for air, punch him on the shoulder with a laugh, and he’d return fire with a series of kisses. Later that week, Marron had gone to the grocery store, saw her grinning face assaulted by love pecks from her sopping wet, 8-pack-abs beau and thought ‘damn, that's a great shot of us.’ Flattered further by the cashier as it was scanned and purchased, she framed the cover and swooned for a good month. 

No one could say she wasn’t completely and utterly smitten with the lavender haired man. He was her best friend, confidant, and closest ally for most of her childhood and adult life. She was lucky to have the attention of someone so affectionate and sincere, a model sweetheart for years that even when they took a break and got back together, she tended to look the other way when he strayed for outsider comfort. It didn’t matter if he was breathtakingly gorgeous or dripping in wealth, catching the twinkling eye of every gold digging woman in all of West City. She knew he loved her and that he would come back time and again anyway. 

Like the other side to a coin, they had been inseparable and she was as certain as the sun would rise that nothing could tear them apart. 

Up until someone she thought she trusted showed up six months ago. 

“Trunks…” She moaned lightly, her legs wide and twitching. The scent of cherry-flavored lube lingered on the air. Her hip pressed into Trunks’ half hard erection clothed by a pair of boxers as his fingers went deep, his thumb rubbing circles into her more sensitive area with a rapid motion. 

Marron adored this side to him. Who wouldn’t? If she were left on a desert island with three things it would be the family portrait of her mom and dad, her favorite book (although that changed as frequently as the weather), and a silicon cast of Trunks’ dick. The damn phallus fit her like a perfect glove that it would probably be the first thing on her list if she had to name priority. The only downside was she didn’t know how to use it as well as he did and  _ he did _ . 

So it was easy to notice distraction and distance over affection. She had been noticing his inattention for a while. 

Marron pinched her brows as his ministrations began to lose its delicacy. “Trunks, ow.” She observed his gaze appeared lost, his hands still kneading her mechanically. 

After three months since Goten abruptly moved out, there was some semblance of peace. She believed everything would go back to normal. To the way it was before he upended their lives.

During the transition, Marron had attempted to comfort Trunks out of the gloom that festered away in the apartment and, although Trunks claimed he accepted Goten’s departure, she couldn’t help feeling at a loss for sympathetic words when he was melancholy. After all, the other man had disappeared from their group because of her.

She drew her knees together as an indication of her discomfort only to see his face turned away from her, his gaze detached and wandering. His fingers continued their rough handling between her thighs that, even with the usage of lubricant, his mind was elsewhere. 

The mood completely ruined, Marron pulled his arm out of her crotch with a grunt. “Trunks, stop.”

It was as if a light switch flicked on in his mind. He snapped his gaze back as if he’d been caught red-handed. “What? I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine. I’m pretty sore. I told you already I can’t go rough right now.” She said peevishly. 

Trunks let out a guilty sigh as he rolled over onto his back, his arms behind his head. “I was caught up in the moment…” he began before abandoning it as she gave a dubious look.

“No, you were spacing out. Again.”

“I just…” He let the end of his thought trail off like his gaze that meandered to the far wall. 

As he chewed the inside of his cheek, Marron got out of bed, flustered. She wiped off her wet thighs with a towel off the floor while donning a silk yellow robe, tying it roughly before crossing her arms across her chest fully expecting the fight that was to come next. She really put up with a lot of Trunks’ habits that would drive even the sanest woman away solely because she loved him. 

In hindsight, she should have seen the signs. It was difficult though when the signs were carefully hidden behind an innocent, aloof smile and staunchly devoted to the both of them. 

The day that changed everything began rather ordinarily. She recalled the two of them hanging out on a lazy Saturday, playing cards and watching chick flicks while Trunks was working. 

Inevitably, the light conversation veered to the absentee of the group and, as Goten felt safe regaling her with silly anecdotes, Marron became fixated on addressing a suspicion of hers for weeks, months, maybe years. The awkward discussion with Bulma the week prior and the excessively friendly manner when Goten was with her ever since the ‘boy’s trip’ only made the stray thread of doubt that much easier to identify, grasp, and pull. Unwilling to keep it bottled up anymore, she delivered the clincher of conversation killers and prayed her suspicions were unjustified. 

“Did you fuck my boyfriend?” she said rather bluntly. The words came out with such a casual tone but so intended, it was like an unnoticed paper cut that finally showed blood when looked upon with keen perception. She wasn’t stupid. Apparently, they both thought she was and could hide it.

Goten blanched and carried about the same facial expression as he did when Buu grinned deviously while turning his Mom into an egg. And squished her under his boot.

“What?” he stammered, realizing the relaxed atmosphere had just dropped into hostile territory.

“Did you fuck my boyfriend?” she repeated, even and enunciated. She knew the next words out of his mouth would be the truth. Son’s didn’t lie. 

Finally, he nodded heavily as if his skull was made of lead. “But we didn’t… didn’t... have sex.” He stated, making a point, as if to lessen the sting from the wound left by the knife he stabbed her in the back with.

“Just other things.”

“Yes.” He admitted while chewing on the inside of his cheek, his face turning beet red.

“Since when?” She didn’t really want to know. Had to know. But didn’t want to.

Under his breath, a soft murmur slid out. He averted his gaze as well. “...camping trip.”

_ Surprise, surprise.  _ “And before that?” 

Feeling rather empowered that the truth was out in the open and she could breathe a little easier knowing all her hunches had been valid, she wanted to squeeze this man for all he was able to give. If she was going to hurt, so was he.

Goten had gone red all the way to his ears, his hands clenched in his lap. For a small minuscule but oh, so savory moment, Marron experienced a tiny bit of euphoria. She had one of the strongest men on the planet at her mercy. 

“Kissed…” He disclosed, almost as if it pained him. “you were first dating…” He muttered.

She tried not to flinch as she swallowed her feelings.

Without much else to say, she calmly requested he move out immediately. He stood, agreed and apologized. She tried to feel nothing.

Before he left, he turned. “I didn’t… I didn’t want…” He fumbled pitifully.

“What? For me to find out?”

“To hurt you.” It came out as a whisper and she bit her tongue, knowing she was losing a close, dear, devoted friend.

“You knew it would.” Her voice cracked under the pressure. 

“I’m so sorry, Mar. I mean it.”

“You knew he was mine.” Maybe there was something to salvage. Maybe. “Are you sorry enough to stop?” She nearly begged.  _ Please, just say you’ll stop. _

His face construed as he stared at the floor. She knew his answer. He eventually shook his head.

In the space of a day, the remains of their third musketeer had been expunged from the premises. It pained her to see a cherished brother leave on such bad terms but she had hoped the pieces of her relationship with Trunks would mend eventually. She wanted things to return to the way they were before Goten ever set foot in their lives. In hindsight, she realized Trunks was in too deep now.

“It’s… work. I’m just… distracted.” He justified, rising from bed and wrapping his arms around her waist, planting small kisses along her collarbone like little apologies. 

“During our intimate time.” She pointed out, unconvinced.

“No. I mean, I was thinking about you. And work. And other things. I’ll be better. I prom-”

“You weren’t thinking about me.” She said hushed. Her shoulders slumped as a dull ache entered her chest. Slow cognizance dawned and she closed her eyes, feeling the heaviness of the burden. 

Maybe it was being love blind. Or maybe they always had problems and it took someone else to bring it forth. Whatever the reason, when she looked in Trunks’ eyes, all she could see now was  _ him. _

“What? Yes, I was. Marron…” He gently held her face in his hands and for the first time, she looked at him with clarity. She couldn't, wouldn't, be second in his life any longer. It was over.

Marron scoffed lightly, broke their contact and began to redress herself with the discarded clothing strewn across the floor. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend… I can’t keep trying with you when you’re stressed or busy or-”

“Wait, I have time for you. I want to be with you. Don't go.” He panicked.

As she packed various toiletries from the bathroom and a stack of shirts and pants from the dresser into a pink and white duffel, she shook her head in exasperation. “Honey, I think we need some time. A small break. A couple days.” She had tried to make it sound less final.

“Babe, don't leave.” His voice raised an octave, seemingly aware that this time didn’t feel like the other times. 

Ignoring him, she put on her shoes and tied her blond hair back into a messy ponytail. “I’m going home for a little bit. I just need to thin-”

He held her forearms with purpose, stilling her movement as his wide eyes darting from her face to the closet. 

“Wait there. Please.” he stammered. She took in the frantic way he got on his own clothing then raced into the closet where he proceeded to pull things out in a disorganized manner. 

For an instant, she stopped. For an instant, she  _ heard _ him and wanted to take it all back, wanted to stay. He was her first everything and had treated her better than most anyone. She would always consider Trunks one of her closest friends. In time, maybe they could still be.

In haste, he nearly tripped over himself getting back to her. “Here.” 

He held out his hand and opened a red velvet box. In it lay an obnoxiously large diamond ring winking at her as the facets of the stone shimmering under the bedroom light. 

“Holy shit…” She gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Trunks…” 

She considered if she was making a terrible mistake while staring at that hunk of polished rock that probably cost more than 100 Kame house islands. Her face grew warm as the corners of her eyes began to well with indecision.

“I don't want you to leave. Ever.” He put it delicately in her shaking hand. “I know things have been tough lately. But I know I want you. For the rest of my life. I was saving it for a better time. I want to marry you, Marron.” He chuckled bashfully.

As she stared at the white gold ring in her palm, she traveled in her mind’s eye to a future in a white dress that billowed in the breeze as she glided down a white linen aisle adorned in fresh flowers within a large gardened venue. She’d float euphorically to a gilded flowered archway, all her friends and family present, her dear sensitive father crying. At the end was her mate, her friend, his blue eyes pinched from the adoring grin he couldn't shake off as he waited for her. And for the briefest moment, she felt so immensely, so deservedly, so blissfully happy.

He was a good man. The perfect man. Her knight in shining armor who was unequivocally handsome, successful, smart, funny, and loving. The whole package. 

The shadow of another, she realized, loomed larger and she couldn't shake the feeling that there’d always be a granule of doubt that would never leave. She’d never be truly happy if he had some secrets he couldn't let go of. How quickly he was open to rekindling what was lost to time solidified that. No matter how close Trunks was with her,  _ he _ would always be closer.

They both deserved full lives. Just not with each other.

Her eyes shut tight as droplets fell down her cheeks.

“I hope those are happy tears.” He brushed her blond fringe from her forehead and held her chin gingerly.

She choked back a sob as she looked up, blue eyes swimming, her face in anguish.

With a fervent shake of her head, Marron closed the lid of the box. “No. I can't. I can't do this anymore.”

“What? Why?” He asked bewildered. 

She would break him. She would be breaking her own heart in the process. They would both be better for it, she reasoned as she took a slow, steady breath in.

“I love you-” She began in a choked sob.

“I love you.”

“- differently than you love me.” She finished. He blinked in trying to comprehend her meaning. “I love you completely, wholly. You don't love me with your whole heart.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is. Baby… I know.” She confessed as delicately as she could.

“Know what?” He questioned, cautious and wary. The visible blanch and quickened breath showed her he was alert to her every word now. He wasn't going to be as forthcoming as the other man. Denial was Trunks' specialty. 

“I know who truly has your heart. It’s not me. And I’m okay with that. Can you tell me, honestly, you’re not waiting for something else?”  _ Someone,  _ she meant, and he gathered her meaning right away, the creases of his brow flattening in alarm. Of course, he wouldn't divulge the truth so readily. 

Appearing almost fearful, he took her hands in his in a light squeeze. “Mar, I want to be with you. We work. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.” He said urgently. As much as he tried to state his case, all she could hear was desperation. 

“We work because I’ve learned how to ignore it. We keep each other happy with me not asking questions and you doing what most women dream their boyfriends would do for them. You overcompensate to hide the truth. We were together, just you and me, for three years. But in the last 6 months, we have fallen apart. You love someone else. I now know you always have. I can’t compete with that.” His jaw clenched and pulsed as her words cut to the bone. 

“I want to be with you.” He muttered, his eyelashes shiny with moisture.

“You only want to be with me because, for some reason, you can't be with them,” she said carefully. “Until you want to talk about why that is, I won't pry.”

“I want. To be. With. You.” He enunciated firmly. “Can you just think about it? We can work this out, Mar. This doesn’t have to be over.” He sniffled. 

“I have. For a long time. I will love you ‘til the day I die.” The pain in her chest tightened like a vice. “I wish I was who you truly wanted.”

To spare him her pain, she held back the full extent of the emotions bubbling under the surface, packed a bag as he stared in helpless disbelief. She told him she’d be at her parent’s house for a little bit while she figured some things out. It was best for both of them if they had some space.

Marron kept her word until she reached her childhood home and threw herself in a graceless heap on her small bed of faded pink flowers and purple sheets and sobbed. She hadn’t cried so hard in her life, the dolls and posters from her youth beaming at her like a timeless homage to better times like the ones she and her two best guy pals used to have before the complications of relationships inevitably took over their innocence. She didn’t regret dating, or falling in love with Trunks and, in fact, she hoped he’d find what he was looking for, hold him in his hands, kiss him without guilt, love this man as she loved him. 

Yet, deep down, she hoped he’d hurt a little. Wanted him to understand just how much it broke someone to give all of yourself in every sense of the word to then have it be not enough. She hoped he’d feel it as she did. She just hadn’t expected it to be as soon as it was. 


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing he noticed walking into the entryway of his apartment was the hallway light which was on at 8:30 pm. Although he was pretty often in his own world, oblivious to a lot of outside stimuli, Goten did take care to turn off all electricity, make sure no appliances were running, and water was turned off. Chalk it up to living with a semi neurotic mother whose favorite pastime it seemed was passive-aggressively nagging about those things in his childhood home. 

The prickling feeling that accompanied the alarm with the hallway light triggered a quick scan of energy in his persona space. Pleasantly surprised, he recognized the signature. The fact the rest of his place was quiet and dark, a slight wave of unease crept up.

“Trunks?” he called, confused while striding into the kitchen where he flicked on those lights as well. The next thing he noticed was the smell of a myriad of uncapped alcoholic beverages, with some of the evidence left strewn across the countertop. He frowned at the familiar sight that crept its way into his place, turning his pad into a veritable speakeasy.

He momentarily panicked as he hadn’t heard any response to the call and searched out for the familiar ki. Thankfully it was close as Goten turned toward the signature and into the next room where he found the broken remains of his friend.

“Trunks?” He tried again and the head of the woeful man faced him from his place on the floor, a sea of bottles wading around him and streams of wetness down his face. This was somewhat new. Usually, Trunks was a happy drunk. 

His eyes were blood-red as he blinked in slow recognition.

“Hey.” He heard Trunks groan out. 

Drawing his brows together cautiously, Goten sat down on the couch adjacent to him. “Hi. You know this is an inappropriate use of the key I gave you, right? You should have at least turned the lights on.” He scolded lightly, taking a seat on the couch and assessing the situation before him. “What’s going on?”

“Marron broke up with me.” His miserable-looking friend said then took another swig from the long-necked bottle in his hand. The mention of her name made Goten’s eye twitch.  _ Fuck. _

Transitioning from the lavish multi-bedroom apartment, private underground garage and doorman while also with his two best friends was an awkward adjustment. Not only did he have to downsize majorly after getting used to the swanky accommodations at a poor man’s rent but the reasoning behind his departure grated so heavily on his psyche that he had genuinely considered quitting his job with Hercule and moving back home to Mt. Pauzu with his tail between his legs. 

An unidentifiable force kept him in the city where he moved to a more run down side of town some would call ‘eclectic’ if they didn’t have to live there themselves, in essentially a box where the bedroom and kitchen shared a wall with no friends or girlfriend. He didn’t mind the size. In fact, the apartment was damn near charming if he squinted. He mostly took it as penance. He could probably never look Marron in the eye again without feeling immeasurable guilt. 

It only took a week for Goten to provide Trunks with a key, for Trunks to come over to hang out, and for those hangouts to become less than PG friendly. Goten never disclosed why he left their little trio or inquired of what their casual heavy petting meant. He gathered the impressions that Trunks constantly skirted the line between faithful and cheating. When one doesn't say it out loud, is it really the latter? When it’s only mutual touching and no further, is it really unfaithful? When he’s able to leave without disclosing how much he means, it’s just two friends being ‘friendly’, right? Goten stewed on it every time. Trunks never asked. 

Goten made a face at the sad sack of man, head in his hands, and a drink between his knees. 

_ At least his speech still sounds clear enough _ , Goten considered, nudging an empty green bottle on the floor with the toe of his shoe. Marron finally leaving the older demi Saiyan didn’t come as a shock. Although he felt worse than ever knowing that he was probably the final straw. That conversation obviously didn’t produce pretty results. 

A squishy wet sound masked the sniffle as Trunks rubbed his tear stricken face pitifully in response. 

Goten tried to swallow inaudibly. “Oh. That sucks. Is that why you’re sitting here in the dark, crying and drinking?” 

A loud sniff and a dramatic wipe of his nose, Trunks regarded him with a slighted sideways glance. “I’m not crying.” He denied and turned away to covertly dry his face in his sleeve. 

Goten rolled his eyes. No matter how despondent Trunks could get, he still maintained the level of emotional denial as only a son of Vegeta could. 

“Okay. How long have you been,” He wanted to say wallowing in forget-all juice but thought better of it. “sitting here?”

“What time is it?” 

“Almost 9.”

“Couple hours, I guess.” Trunks responded, downing the remainder of the bottle and peered into the emptiness with dissatisfaction as if an alternate reason it was gone would present itself from within. 

With a sigh, Goten grabbed the glass and placed it on the floor then slung his friend’s arm over his shoulder.

“Great. Can you stand?” He asked without really waiting for a response that was most likely slow coming.

“Where we goin’?” Trunks asked with enough latency that they had made it round the corner to Goten’s room.

“I’m taking you to a bed. You need to sleep this off.”

“Don’ wanna.” Trunks groaned with difficulty and nearly went limp on purpose. Goten hooked his bicep around his inebriated friend’s underarm and held onto his back, lifting with little effort. He figured Trunks was just being troublesome for show.

“She broke up… with me.” He hiccuped, a disbelieving crack to his pitiful voice.

“I heard,” Goten replied with all the sympathy he could muster. 

“I love her.” He muttered.

Goten tried not to feel the sting and instead bit his tongue. “I know.” He mumbled.

A heavy head leaned on his shoulder as Goten carefully walked him to his room, placed him in a heap on his king-size bed and took off his shoes.

As he made to leave, he stopped just short of the door when Trunks let out a pained groan followed by a wet belch and hiccup that left Goten moderately concerned. He assessed the damage as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. It would probably be in Trunks’ best interest to make sure he didn’t wake up tomorrow in a pool of his own vomit. 

Goten left for a moment and returned with a large plastic bowl, placed it on the floor on Trunks’ side and slid onto the other end of the bed, making sure to stay on top of the comforter. 

“What ‘re you doin’?” he heard Trunks whisper-slur. 

“Waiting. Don't want you to die of alcohol poisoning.” He replied half-serious. Goten was pretty sure Trunks’ knew his own Saiyan limits before he went too far. Wouldn’t hurt to just be present. “There’s a bucket on the floor if you need to puke.”

Trunks seemed to appreciate it as he hummed and whispered a groggy, “thanks.”

The bed creaked as Trunks sloshed around trying to find some level of comfort. He ultimately stopped after a few moments of hatching, succumbed to sleep while lying on his side, and facing Goten. Eyes adjusted to the dark, Goten watched the peaceful way the older halfling drifted off despite the spiraling self-destructive behavior he engaged in while awake. 

He wished he could do something else besides try to reason with the most charming man alive. Goten, in his efforts, ended up doing more harm than good then subsequently forced to pick up the pieces once the machine of a man, so put together, hard-working and efficient, eventually fell apart from lack of self-care. Goten had seen the cracks under pressure so many times before. The magnifying lens of responsibility with work or his parent’s expectations that Trunks had to seek out less than kosher ways to cope with it. 

As the sound of nasally snoring became the only noises from his uninvited visitor, Goten lay with an arm under his head and stared up at the ceiling wondering how long he had to wait. He had been exhausted since the day began and closed his eyes without thinking, listening to the steady breath at his side.

The break up was just another thing to add to the ever-growing pile of problems the Heir tried to fix with a bottle. Or a woman. Or a car. Or a cruise. Everything except talking about it. Or Heaven forbid, ask for help. Goten wanted to be that help. He wouldn’t push too hard though if Trunks pushed back. Which he did.

He woke suddenly, the strange feeling that perhaps he had overslept on a workday. With gradual realization that it was sometime early Saturday morning, the shades only hinting at daylight through the windows, did he then make the connection of the unfamiliar feeling. He must have dozed off himself with Trunks at the other side of the bed, the older man’s back to him as he remained motionless to Goten’s waking movements. 

Trunks was typically a heavy mover in his sleep. Had been since they were kids. More often than not while living at the other apartment, Goten would hear the telltale sign of Trunks falling out of bed, Marron repeating his name, muffled by a thin wall, and eventually the rousing sound of Trunks getting up on the creaking bed and silence returning. 

This morning, Goten did find it odd and somewhat disheartening that Trunks must have been so devastated, or drunk, to stay in a pitiful fetal position all night. Or so Goten thought as he rubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his hand and made to get up.

“I’m awake. I already puked.” Trunks croaked as he turned over, his short purple hair messy with bed head. “It’s real, isn’t it?” 

Goten sat up and turned to see Trunks’ gloomy face peered back, the redness of drink and a broken heart still present in his gaze.

Some sentinel he was. Goten felt like a heel realizing Trunks had already gotten up, vomited, brushed his teeth, from the minty scent he could now smell, and returned to bed all in the time Goten slept like the dead. 

“What’s real?” Goten asked. Guess it's better to play the supportive friend while awake.

“That we broke up.” 

“That’s what you told me. Although to be fair, you guys break up at least once every 3 months for one thing or another.” He put forth as a flimsy consolation.

“Not this time. She knows.” Trunks said pensively into his pillow as his gaze drifted off. “She said I don't care for her as much as-” He paused and pulled back like the next words were incriminating. As if seeing him for the first time in his newly sobered state, Trunks peered at Goten with odd fixation.

Curious of what he would have said but didn’t, Goten knew better than to pry. Trunks would divulge on his own time, despite the desire to know and the sneaking suspicion the conversation was about him. 

The older man’s gaze stayed glued to his own. Goten felt vulnerable as the alarms went off while staring into those analyzing eyes, the workings behind them almost visible. He broke eye contact and swung a leg over the side of the mattress to avoid it further.

Before a toe could touch the floor, a hand reached out and latched on his wrist, roughly at first but slackened. 

“Stay.” Trunks requested in a whisper. “Please?”

Goten made the mistake of not following through. Leaving the room entirely. Instead, against vastly better judgment, he turned his gaze back to the man in his bed.

The manner of which Trunks’ eyes searched his, the small part of his lips, the way his violet hair rested softly against his cheekbone, Goten wanting nothing more than to leave rather than have his feelings messed with like so many other times. The knotting in the pit of his stomach knew with absolute certainty what was unsaid between them. Even knowing full well he could just be the rebound for the failed relationship, he obliged as he lay back down against the pillows. He could not say no to this man.

He watched Trunks make the cautious crawl over, hover near his face as if weighing heavy choices in that calculating brain of his, then pressed his lips to Goten’s slow and deliberate.

Goten closed his eyes and held still. 

They had never talked about the accidental intimacy all those years ago. Feeling pretty foolish after that kiss, and other things, he fled in embarrassment rather than wait and find out it was a mistake. Meeting up after years of no contact and then living together actually helped him to realize Trunks cared as more than just a friend and, in some crooked way, that knowledge made up for the humiliation he felt the first time. 

The number of occasions where it appeared something more would happen but never did was more numerous than he’d like to admit. Under Marron’s watchful eye, Trunks had to hide the brush of a hand. A lingering look. The inescapable pull of a charming smirk. Played it off like it was harmless fun. Up until then, they hadn’t done anything more than mutual touching and making out. 

It always seemed to happen in the same way. Trunks would initiate, Goten would give and Trunks would take; the silly games they played were never enough to deny this man. No. He would always surrender with his whole self to the temptation of the purple-haired halfling, regardless of denial and culpability, if only for an ounce of affection. 

As Trunks pulled back agonizingly slow with half-lidded eyes, Goten licked his lips subconsciously before diving in for more, his whole being magnetically pulled into the older man’s arms. 

In the span of running his hands into the nape of Trunks’ neck and Trunks pressing himself into Goten’s hips, a final rationalizing notion that fooling around would lead to being taken advantage of, again, fired like a warning signal. But as Trunks dipped a hand down the front of the younger man’s rising sweatpants, those thoughts disappeared and were replaced by baser instincts taking over his limited logical brain. It felt fucking fantastic just like every other time. Even if he knew deep down it was a fantastically bad choice.

* * *

“Can I stay with you? Just for a little bit? My place is too big…. And empty.” Trunks requested as he traced Goten’s bare abdominals with a single finger absentmindedly. 

It took all of ten seconds to come up with the most objective answer he could formulate while naked and blissfully satisfied. “Sure. That’s fine.”

“Cool. I’ll just stay on the couch. It’ll only be for a couple days.”

Neither statement held any truth, even from the very beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

Gods, Goten lived in the shittiest part of town. It had actually crossed the billionaire son’s mind more than once the younger half Saiyan did it on purpose just to fuck with him. At least his petri dish of a homestead was close to some good restaurants and the liquor store. Gotta find that silver lining. It was also a benefit his temporary roommate was hot or Trunks would take into serious consideration moving back in with his parents. Being single fucking sucked. 

It took about a month for his pampered ass to adjust. He made a point to remember to lock and capsule his off the line sports car before heading up so it stopped getting broken into, change into street clothes on the way home from work so as not to look like a soft target for a halfhearted theft attempt, and refrain from making eye contact with the desperate older woman down the hall who always stood too close and salaciously asked about his workout routine. It was surprising and rather relieving to go practically unnoticed in the slum part of town. Despite the purple hair and his mother's blue eyes, no one really believed one of the richest people in West City lived in an area on the wrong side of the tracks. Not being recognized for once was strangely liberating. 

He figured all this ‘roughing it’ was good for building character. It was all worth it for the guy he had waiting when he came home.  _ Home. _ It took some time to get used to that. The situation with the ‘guy’ was more opaque. Trunks’ didn’t want to think about affixing a label as he had with Marron and he was grateful Goten just went along with whatever. Within the safety of their small shared space, Trunks was content with the ambiguity of the casual fling. Even after 2 months, he was still unsure about where they stood with that particular possessive identifier and he was fine not bringing attention to it. 

“I’m home.” Trunks called, entering the kitchen and craning his neck up to take in a delectably sweet aroma of chocolate and sugar that hit him like walking into a bakery. He crossed the floor as Goten appeared from the living room. 

“Hey,” Goten replied as he took Trunks’ hand, gently rubbing his thumb at his wrist’s underside before letting go. It was a habitual gesture at this point, borne out of the breakup. A physical reassurance of the unspoken connection that Trunks appreciated every time. “Have a good day?”

“It was fine. Why does it smell like cake in here?”

“Because I had a shitty day. Called my mom and everything for the recipe. It’s her famous chocolate one.” Trunks knit his eyebrows while sticking out his lip in a fake pouting expression. “Don't worry. I left you a slice.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’d feel left out if you didn't.” He teased as he pecked Goten’s jawline swiftly. 

As he ventured over to the counter where he spied a plastic-wrapped slice of chocolatey heaven, he paused upon hearing Goten do his ‘I need to talk seriously’ throat clear. 

“Did you go see Marron today?” The dark-haired man inquired, a twinge of hope in his question. 

_ Shit _ . Ever since the split, the two refused to even mention her name, Trunks out of pride and Goten out of shame. Regardless of the details, it appeared that both men had managed to get on Marron’s blacklist. 

For a while, Trunks rode that wave of denial up until the younger man seemed emboldened enough to request a conversation with her directly, ‘to clear the air’ he’d say. Trunks, on the other hand, didn’t think he needed to meet with her any time soon. She made the decision to tear his heart out and break up with him. As far as he was concerned, they were done. He had moved on. Goten didn't seem too keen to follow through with his ‘out of sight, out of mind’ approach though. 

Meeting her was a passing thought that Trunks perceived as an abatement to his friend’s nagging conscience and hoped would dissipate over time. Then the requests for a truce began. Trunks rolled his eyes to the wall. He just wanted Goten to stop asking. 

Putting on his best poker face, he smiled. 

“Uh, yea.” He lied. “We went out to lunch today, actually. Talked things out. She’s fine. We’re still friends.”

He observed Goten tilt his head, moderately unconvinced while trying to remain as neutral as a Son possibly could. “Really? She’s fine.”

“Mhm.” Trunks nodded, noting that despite the uncertainty, there still lay some apprehension with meeting her himself. Trunks posed a bluff he knew wouldn't be taken up, even for all the zeni in the world. “You can go ask her yourself if you want.” 

As predicted, Goten drew back with a shake of his head. “No. If you say she's okay, then…”

Trunks pivoted on his heel. “You haven’t started anything for dinner yet, have you?” Trunks asked, deliberately changing the subject as he perused the fridge.

Goten took a second to respond. “Not yet.”

“Chicken and pasta okay?”

“Yea. Thanks. I’m gonna go change.”

Trunks let out a relieved breath as Goten left sounding a lot more persuaded than he thought he would. Or perhaps he was still petrified of the blonde. Either way, Trunks was glad he was the more trusting one of the two.

With the water boiling and the chicken braised and simmering in a creamy white wine tomato sauce, Trunks rested a hand on his hip sipping a generous glass of leftover wine. He relaxed his stance at a slant as he stirred in the dry pasta. He turned his attention at the feeling of being watched. 

Sure enough, Goten leaned against the arch separating the kitchen from the living room in sweats and a loose tank top. He snickered to himself.

Trunks narrowed his eyes with a teasing smirk. “What are you staring at, creeper?” 

“You know, you look just like your Dad standing like that.” He remarked in observational nonchalance.

Trunks immediately adjusted his stance with a frown. “Why would you say that?”

“Are you offended?” He grinned.

“I just don't know why you would say that.”

Goten playfully shrugged. “I just noticed how similarly you guys stand. I wasn't making a personal comparison.” 

“Yea, well, at least I don't look like a fucking carbon copy of my dad.” Trunks retorted, bristling peevishly.

Dark eyebrows cinched together. Goten made a point to only touch Trunks’ bicep with the back of his hand as the older man tensed from agitation. 

“Why are you getting so upset?” He inquired gently. Trunks flinched as Goten cocked his head, confused that the intended conversation was meant to be light and pithy, not devolve into defense. He hated being scrutinized, especially by Goten who was super unsubtle about it. “Are you… are you considering telling them? Is that what's bothering you?”

“What’s there to tell?” He deflected with a shrug. “It’s not like we’re anything ser-”

He glanced up at the hurt written across Goten’s face. It was like kicking a puppy. 

“-ious.” He finished under his breath and pursed his mouth. 

Trunks chewed on his tongue before going with honesty as he took a swig of wine. “I’ve been thinking about it lately. I would like to test the waters, y’know? I just… it’s not gonna be pretty.” He murmured in admission, stirring the pasta sauce with messy strokes that it dripped over the side of the pan and sizzled on the burner. 

The state of semi normalcy felt nice, natural, real. In some instances within their little half Saiyan friendship bubble, Trunks seriously considered what a potential relationship could look like. Even publicly on the rare times when they would go out to a bar, there'd be drinking and dancing and carefree fun to then end up in bed, cozying up while keeping the 'just friends' veneer intact. Trunks liked not being alone. Yet as the man that wore every single emotion on his sleeve, Trunks could tell Goten was getting antsy about their status the longer he stayed at his place. 

“Honestly, I think you are being way harder on yourself than you should. We’re just living together, right? Bulma will be supportive-” Goten insisted, leaning up against the counter.

“You know it's not her.” Trunks said low as he ground his teeth lightly. They were stepping on contentious ground.

Hitting a soft spot, Goten tried to sound understanding while careful in his phrasing. “I know. But Vegeta’s an alien. It’s possible you’re getting hung up on the wrong thing. I wouldn't be surprised if he was cool with us. Only Earth seems to-”

“I don't expect him to have a problem with that.” Trunks interrupted, beginning to grind his teeth harder. 

Getting the hint, tried another approach. “Why don't you tell your Mom first then so she can kinda help you through it?” He suggested. 

“If I do that, she’ll talk to him before I do. I know  _ he _ won’t tell me what he really thinks if she preps him.” He replied curtly, cutting his eyes to the far wall. With a growl, he turned his icy glare onto Goten as he tossed the spoon petulantly on the counter. “Why don't _you_ tell your parents if it’s so damn important?” He hissed defensively.

Unprovoked, Goten merely grabbed a dish towel to wipe down the counter and the droplets that had splashed on his cheek. “You know why I can’t.”

“You put this all on me. To do it first?”

“Yea. ‘Cause I’m not the one with a complex. My parents probably already know  _ something _ about us. And if they don't, they won’t care.”

“Even Chichi?” Trunks stated pointedly. They both were well aware of how baby crazy the woman was. Goten with a man would certainly throw a wrench in her plans for more grandkids.

Doubling down, Goten brought his face closer to Trunks with a confident smirk. “Even Chichi.”

“What the fuck am I gonna say?” Trunks' voice cracked, desperation laced in his tone. 

With a steady turn of the stove’s dial, Goten reduced the heat and placed the lid on the bubbling chicken dish, threading his arms around Trunks waist in the process. He stood a hair’s breadth away as he tucked strands of violet behind the frazzled halfling’s ear. He made a point to place his forehead on Trunks’ as the older man took a staggered breath. 

“I would think, something truthful.” Goten supplied in a consoling tone. “Trunks, listen. I don't want you to feel cornered. If you don't want to talk to them, that’s okay. I’m not asking to make _this_ , whatever it is, a thing. I’m not saying we date or label it or whatever,” Trunks shifted on his feet as Goten continued, “I just think it’s fair for them and  _ you _ to finally get this off your chest. You’re into guys. Into me, right? So tell them. If you want.” 

They stood there with Goten’s arms encircling Trunks, a citadel of protecting the younger prince from any harm, as he held his arms at his sides. Eyes closed, Trunks’ breathing evened out, temper assuaged and went nearly silent in brooding consideration. 

“I’ll think about it.” Trunks finally said and gently pushed away from him, pulled dishes down from the cabinet as he finished the last of his wine and opened a new bottle. He didn’t care if he’d be judged for that, too. 

He could feel Goten’s probing eyes at his back as he traversed the kitchen on autopilot, pouring, scooping, garnishing, all while in deep concentration. As much as he wanted to pretend he wasn’t involved in a clear existential crisis going on in his head, he wondered if Goten could commiserate in being stuck in his own thoughts sometimes. Trunks knew his….whatever he was… wanted to help. To say something encouraging. In all actuality, the older man would rather have his teeth pulled without anesthetic than drag Goten down into the depths of his uncertain mind when it came to his father. 

It wasn't like he hadn't considered what a conversation with Vegeta would look like. It just felt like a risk he’d rather not take. Ever. Considering how much Goten meant to him, Trunks had come to the decision to meet with his parents long before saying out loud that he would think about it. He understood that, even with the difficulty of the subject matter, at least Trunks could find some peace within himself with a face to face discussion. For better or worse. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say a very big thanks to my amazing beta Chameleon for helping make this chapter 100% better. Please check out her wonderful DBZ works here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveChameleon/pseuds/AveChameleon
> 
> Shout out to all of you that have stuck by this fic so far. Your support, kudos and comments are invaluable and I'm so grateful to be part of such an awesome community. Happy reading!

This was turning out to be the worst school year yet for Bulla. It wasn't her fault she had been born to one of the greatest geniuses of the time or that the other kids in her class were all stupid nitwits. One would think an eight year old, despite skipping two grades, would have less maturity than the simpletons she was surrounded by 6 hours a day, 5 days a week. But no. No amount of reasoning with the childish dolts could stop such immaturity. Since day one, she regarded them not as peers but annoyances like hovering flies that needed the swatter. Then yesterday, they all had to make it worse by mocking her when she dropped red paint on her new yellow dress during art class. Accidents happen, morons. They were just lucky she had enough restraint on her Saiyan abilities that the school itself wasn't a pile of rubble under her feet and the only sound was the crackle of burning concrete. She’d show them, when they all work under her as janitors and she’s owner of the richest company in the world. Then they’ll be sorry for laughing like mindless hyenas at her expense. 

“Bulla, honey, can you get the door?” her mother called. She almost didn't hear the summons over her rage, lying on the couch and pulling apart every throw pillow within her reach at the seams. 

“‘Kay,” she grumbled, sliding off the cushion and trudging to the door, smoothing out her pink dress. The white taffeta skirt fringe crinkled as she walked. 

There was absolutely nothing anyone could do to make her not want to throw bricks at that damn school. Her life was over. Even Daddy wouldn't listen to reason when she had asked him, in her sweetest voice, to burn it down himself. She saw his face light up for a fraction of a second before he regretfully reconsidered. Said it was “excessive destruction of private property”, whatever that means. 

She ran her fingers through her straight aqua hair and adjusted her headband, grousing the whole way to the front hallway.

And now Mommy wants to throw a party. As if she ever invited anyone for her to play with. Even Pan didn’t really come over anymore. They were always people she didn't know that wanted to talk about the weather or grown-ups she didn’t know or the news-

“Hi, Bulla.” 

The door had barely swung open when the most beautiful sight graced the threshold like an angel come to life in tan khakis. Every bad thought fluttered away like confetti as her heart danced in her chest. She could have sworn she heard the birds serenading just for him. 

“Hi, Goten.” She sighed dreamily, a hand on the door frame to keep her from falling to pieces.

There wasn't a single person alive more handsome than Son Goten. It was just a fact and she would fight anyone that disagreed with her. It didn't matter he was older, all she knew was she was utterly smitten, head over heels, in love with this man. And someday they would marry. And she could die happy.

“Hey there, onion head.” Trunks came in behind him and, like the jerk that he was, ruffled her hair coarsely as he passed by. Bulla swatted at his hand, her face turning an undainty shade of pink.

“Aw, look, she’s embarrassed.” Trunks chuckled playfully, slipping out of his shoes. 

_ If you still lived here, I’d put a wet dishrag on your face while you slept.  _ She seethed, fists clenched. 

Goten nudged him with his shoulder. 

“C’mon. Be nice. I think she looks lovely. Your dress is very pretty today.” Goten remarked, closing the door behind him. The wink clinched it. 

_ Lovely _ . The word curled around her heart like a cozy blanket. She swooned and blushed deeper.

Her gaze flitted over his perfect face then downward to the rest of him. She creased her eyebrows when her focus settled on the two men holding hands. She observed curious the way their fingers intertwined, delicate and casual. 

Almost immediately after she noticed it, Trunks dropped Goten’s hand and placed it in his pant’s pocket roughly. Bulla watched Goten’s face fall sullenly as his own hand closed in on itself like a bloom that's lost the warmth of the sun.

_ He just wants to hold someone’s hand,  _ she thought and extended her own. With a thankful smile, Goten took it without hesitation. She made sure to thread her fingers with his so he didn't feel lonely. He squeezed her tiny palm and she grinned as her pink glitter nail polish sparkled against his large hand.

“Bulla?”

If her heart could sing, it would be an aria. She’d have to settle for the beaming grin that refused to leave. Cheeks be damned, she’d grin the rest of the day for the boy with the dazzling smile.

“Bulla?”

“What?” She responded in the haze of echoed voices to find Trunks and Goten both staring down at her with perplexed looks. 

“Mom’s calling you,” her brother said with a snicker. “C’mon. Let’s go see what she wants, bug.”

While she hated that he teased her in Goten’s glorious presence, she allowed Trunks to take her other hand. She walked as quickly as she could, sandwiched between the two towering men as they all entered the kitchen. Distracted by Goten smiling down at her every couple steps, she let go of their hands and strode straight into her Mom’s right leg as she stood at the counter.

“Careful, hon. I’m setting out wine glasses.” Bulma chided. “Can you get the plates out of the dishwasher? It's all clean. I just need five.”

With a nod, Bulla opened the door to the machine and pulled out the rack with sparkling ceramic. She observed Trunks and Goten milling around strangely in her Mom’s presence. Trunks had a look on his face that reminded her of when she had been hanging out in his room and had asked him if he was sick a lot. No one has that many tissues in a waste bin if they weren’t. He fidgeted, didn’t know how to answer. Got red. Like he was now. _Grown ups_ , she thought, with a shake of her head.

“Hi, honey.” Bulma smiled as she retrieved several bottles of wine from the wine chiller under the counter. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Hi, Mom,” Trunks greeted as he kissed his mother on the cheek. “It hasn't been that long.”

“I feel like I haven't seen you at a family event in months. Thankfully it looks like it's just gonna be the five of us so I’ll get to spend all my time with you,” she cooed teasingly while embracing him in a tight hug. She pulled back with worry. “Honey, you’re getting thin. Have you been eating?”

“I’ve been forgetting. That’s all,” he mumbled.

“You need to eat. Your metabolism doesn’t agree with you starving yourself,” she lectured. 

“Honestly, Mom, I’m not. You worry too much. I’ve just been forgetting,” he deflected as he rubbed her shoulder. 

“Alright, if you say so. I hope you're both hungry, at least. We have a new company caterer and I think she wants to make an impression. There’s enough food out there for both a Vegeta _ and  _ Goku sized appetite, I think. We may actually have leftovers. Goten, I’m looking at you to help me so that doesn’t happen.” She laughed, pouring herself a glass of chardonnay and passing one to Trunks.

“Sounds great, Miss Bulma, I’m starving,” Goten replied while politely declining a proffered glass of wine. His dark irises followed the glass in Trunks’ hand up to his mouth and he pinched his lips. Without skipping a beat, the older man shrugged with a small smirk and decided to look elsewhere.

“Oh, Trunks, I forgot. Some office mail sent to your house is coming back undelivered.” 

“I moved,” he said through a sip and pulled out his phone. 

“I noticed. I feel a little left out of the loop,” she said scrunching her face peevishly. “Why didn’t you tell me you moved? You know, just because you and Marron split didn’t mean you had to give up that nice apartment. And I have to say, I’m a little surprised you left downtown for this new place. Why did you move all the way over there?” she inquired while arranging a stack of clean plates on the countertop. 

“I just needed a change,” he said as his thumb flicked across the screen’s surface, drawing another cross look from his mother at his rudeness. 

“All by yourself?” she pressed. 

“No. I moved in with… with a friend,” he answered staring at his phone.

The whole conversation was boring. Bulla was far more interested in watching Goten but that was hard to do with Trunks moving around so much in her line of sight. Bulla drew her eyebrows as she wondered why her brother was acting all fidgety again. Even if her brother didn't live at their house anymore, not giving full attention to their mom was definitely frowned upon. 

Goten certainly looked like he needed a hug. His face looked like someone pinched him really hard and didn’t say sorry after. Bulla closed the dishwasher with a click and held out her arms to be picked up. Without hesitation, Goten bent down and held her to his chest, and her arms squeezed around his neck. He still seemed sad until she tried to tickle him under his chin. She laughed as he tickled her sides in response. 

“Mom, stop the detective work. I just moved. That’s all.” Trunks said louder than intended. Flustered, he glanced over to Goten. “Let’s go out back,” he said gruffly.

Bulla huffed as Goten gently dropped her to the feet. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay? Save me a seat next to you, Princess.” He winked again and she just about floated away. 

As the boys took their leave to the back yard, the plink of glass on marble sounded in the open kitchen with her mom arranging glassware. 

“What is going on with him?” she heard her mother mutter. Bulla sighed watching Goten round the far wall and move out of sight. She went back to assisting with prep as she separated wooden chopsticks into pairs with absentminded and mechanical efficiency. She didn't really even register her Mom had left the kitchen while she daydreamed.

As far back as she could recall, Goten was present more than any other family friend, including her friend Pan. She adored him more than she could express and disregarded all notions that they were not destined to be together. No one could tell her otherwise.

She started as her name was called and looked up to see several chafing dishes of what she assumed was braised beef, the steam and mouthwatering smell stirring her hungry stomach.

“Bulla, could you go tell the boys I need some help bringing some things to the patio? They’re probably out back fighting.”

She perked up realizing the request would include Goten, tossed the rest of the chopsticks haphazardly on the marbled countertop, and raced out of the kitchen to the yard where she last saw them go. 

At the back porch sliding door, she scanned the grass until she spied the two of them sparring. With a hand on the handle, she readied to open it when it suddenly puzzled her how odd the spar looked compared to how she sparred with her dad or he sparred with Uncle Goku.

Her brother and Goten were on the ground with Goten sitting on Trunks’ abdomen, and their faces unusually close. They were holding hands again. 

She could remember several distinct displays of affection between her dad and her mom. The careful way her Dad would hold her Mom, hug her when he thought no one was looking. She’d brush her lips on him to the point where his eyes closed, letting his guard down. They’d linger and Bulla would wonder how they could breath stuck together like that. It grossed her out. They were too old to be doing such a thing. 

Romance, Bulla understood from the movies she watched, belonged to beautiful princesses, their doting princes showering them with gifts and declarations of fidelity then peppering them with kisses and hugs. She’d envision herself with Goten--he on his gallant steed, her astride her unicorn Sparkles, and they’d trot off into the sunset. 

Watching Goten give her brother open mouth kisses as he straddled Trunks on the grass, she knew they were engaged in something romantic. They were far enough away and under the shade of the treeline to be secluded from direct view but she could clearly discern the two at her angle. One of Trunks’ hands was in Goten’s hair almost like he was petting him. The way they kissed looked strangely wonderful.

Bulla dropped her hand slowly from the door handle with a soft smile. 

Goten was clearly getting practice in- before they got married, of course, she reasoned. It made perfect sense. Her dad always told her if one wants to do something right, best to practice until it's perfect. Since her beloved was older, it was only natural that he practiced now and especially with someone he trusted. She was happy, reasoning by the way her brother grinned that Goten must be an excellent kisser. She could hardly wait until he kissed her that way. 

A thought dawned on her and she left in search of her most cherished confidant, forgetting her mother’s summons entirely. There were much more important matters at hand. She was bound and determined now that she needed to inform him of her future intentions. Bulla skipped giddily to the gravity room and hoped her dad would be pleased as well about the love of her life. Maybe Daddy would help her start planning her wedding. She wanted a big white carriage and a princess dress just like the princesses in the movies. She could hardly wait until she was 18 and she could be his bride. It was so exciting to imagine and she was giddy to share her excitement with her Dad. 

* * *

Thankfully, the lunch date at his parents went rather well. Trunks had fully expected one of two things to happen: for his Mom to talk his ear off about his job proficiency, or for his Dad to nag him about training as he always did when he came home to visit. Neither happened, as Bulma spent most of her time chatting with a helpless-looking Goten while keeping Bulla in check and his father hadn't even made an appearance, stating he was too busy training to join. Plus they had braised beef, pork, a variety of starches and lemon blueberry cake, so all in all, a pretty decent day. 

As the sun was setting, he was ready to go home. He was halfway into the 4th piece of cake and blueberry frosting, preparing to bid his Mom farewell, when a sharp kick to his shin under the dining table forced him to glance up. Goten had that stupid determined look as he indicated with his head.  _ Damn. _ Honestly, Trunks had hoped Goten had forgotten all about their agreement.

He sighed roughly through his nose before getting up. Goten mouthed ‘good luck’ before turning his attention back to Bulma recounting a lengthy story about how she had shot Goku in the head when they first met, while she wiped frosting from her daughter’s squirming face. 

The trek to the GR felt especially long. The door itself, in the middle of the nicely painted hallway among other, more common doors, was like a steel tooth that stuck out on a pretty face and made the rest of it seem more menacing than it should have. Or maybe it was intended that way.

He made sure to knock before entering. Unsurprisingly, Vegeta opened the door before the second knock. Trunks took in a short breath. “Hey Dad, can I talk to you?” 

Being in the gravity room had the effect of making Trunks feel 10 again, constantly under a harshly judgmental eye. He hadn’t been in the space for years; he truthfully couldn’t even remember the last time the two of them sparred. With the pressures of his job taking up most of his time, Trunks stopped visiting the gravity room for a good fight and Vegeta eventually just stopped asking. He immediately regretted the choice of location for this particular discussion.

“Alright.” Vegeta was unreadable as always.

“I, um… wanted to talk to you about something important.”

Being in front of his dad was often akin to participating in a dangerous game of Russian Roulette. Sometimes the loaded chamber went off within the first few seconds he opened his mouth, a misstep triggering the short temper and ending in a heated argument. Other times, Trunks was able to reason, to state his intent, and the conversation would stay just that. He hoped this time, it was the latter. Probably wishful thinking.

Only when Vegeta perked up a brow of mild curiosity did Trunks square his shoulders, take a breath and attempt to formulate his case in the fewest words as possible. 

“I’ve been dating… people... for a while now,” he said, preemptively bracing for the chamber to be spun, wondering what would fire out and when.

“Okay?” Vegeta replied, relaxing his brows while crossing his arms.

_ Click _

Trunks swallowed once. “I think... I like... guys,” he stated. His gaze focused on the minute twitch that quickly returned to neutrality on his proud father’s face. He was surprised to see the older Saiyan shrug so casually.

“And?” he said, almost disinterested. A small sigh left Trunks’ mouth as the first part was done. That was a relief in itself, the weight of the statement out in the open, discovering it wasn’t the trigger.

_ Click _

He cleared his throat knowing the follow-up would be the hardest. Deep down, he knew.

“I found someone that makes me happy. Really happy.” He licked his bottom lip in preparation. “I want to be with Goten,” he finished, a prickling sensation racing to the top of his skull.

The older Saiyan, without changing his posture, blinked once slowly before giving the verdict. “No.” 

_ Bang. _

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” his father said with an odd calmness.

The shrapnel from the imaginary bullet felt as though it pierced every vital organ, from his heart to his lungs as he found difficulty taking in oxygen, down to his stomach as the shards tore through his gut with painful clarity. He knew it was fruitless to ask. Knew the answer before the shots were fired. Still took the risk of the game being rigged. There could always be another bullet.

“Why?”

“You know why.” The way in which his word came out accusingly, disdainfully. A deep cut from a wound that never healed, not correctly anyway. Trunks held back a derisive laugh as he bit his tongue instead. 

“Goku? Seriously? This is about Goku?” Unbelievable. No, wait. Completely and ridiculously believable.

Vegeta cocked his head to the side as his dark eyes narrowed to slits, his fingers gripping his tightly crossed arms. “I don't need to justify myself to you,” he spat.

“You don't want me to be happy with Goten because of Goku.” The pettiness of it all broke Trunks’ resolve to be civil. Now, he was just scornful. The disbelieving laugh came out as a snide chuckle. “I was gonna ask why you guys were okay with me dating Marron. I now realize Krillin and 18 aren’t a threat to you…  _ anymore, _ ” he observed petulantly. 

The slight pinch at the corners of his father’s eyes were the only indication of any reaction. “What you do with your life is none of my business, not anymore. You're an adult. You being with Kakarot’s spawn, however… is something I don't agree with. Why do you care what I think anyway?”

He blinked a few times, surprised that it wasn't obvious. “You’re my Dad. I wanted… I wanted…”

“What? My approval?”

“Yes.”

“I want what's best for you, what’s best for this family. But joining as… intimately… as you’re suggesting will not happen. Our families work together to keep the peace in this world. We will not mix with them this way. They are beneath us.”

His Dad had done this song and dance for as long as he could remember. Son senior was lower class, a terrible Saiyan, self righteous, too soft, too nice, too forgiving. His offspring were not much better. Both Gohan and Goten were wasted talent who had squandered their chances to be great. Trunks saw the derogatory attitude against the Sons as little more than the rantings of a sour man. 

He didn't think his father’s rivalry had affected him. Evidently, it had. It nestled, took root and wound itself around his life without him even noticing. 

The symbolic bullet had ripped through his flesh and settled nicely at his heart. At that point, he just wanted to leave to prevent any more of his blood from marring his Dad’s sacred space. “So to be clear- you don't care that I like guys?”

“Male, female, I don't give a shit. You do what you want.”

“But finding someone that I want to be with who happens to be a Son-”

“-Is out of the question. We do not need more connection with the Sons. There’s nothing more of this matter to discuss. Is my position on this any way unclear?”

It actually hurt, physically hurt, to breathe. “I got it,” he managed.

Vegeta lifted his chin, his features intimidating as he drew his dark eyebrows together with something that looked like concern. Like perhaps he had said too much. 

“Anything else?” the older man said at length.

Trunks looked at the shorter yet more imposing man in defeat as he swallowed thickly and tried to refrain from crumbling under his father’s gaze.

“No, sir.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Chameleon again for the brilliant betaing this chapter. For Vagus and EBK's unwavering support. And AreoIan's thorough comments on each chapter, keeping me on track and this story moving in the right direction. I also want to thank DBZKink for encouraging a little light smut every now and again. This is about as sexy as I can do, darling ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *Sex Warning*

The front door slammed unusually hard that day, the windows in the tiny apartment quaking in their worn wooden frames. Goten winced at the sound, mentally preparing himself for yet another tense evening as he bore the brunt of pent up, angry energy boiling in his lover’s blood over the past couple of weeks. 

It became insufferably evident Trunks was having a rough patch, the roughest yet, circling dangerously around a conversation he refused to share yet constantly muttered about under his breath. The muttering turned to grousing; the grousing to drinking; and all the while, Goten tried to be patient, steadfast and loyal while trying not to think about how the advice to come out to Trunks’ parents may have actually backfired. 

Unable to help when the help was clearly unwanted, Goten tried to avoid shared spaces and close quarters, hoping that the fire would eventually burn itself out if he didn't add any more oxygen to the flames. That feat was rather difficult when the space they occupied was the size of a broom closet with a bed. When they did cross paths, Trunks’ typical way of expressing his ire was shying away from any physical contact with a push or a shove, refusing to look Goten in the eye or, more frequently, finding the bottom of several bottles of beer or wine. Saiyan genes prevented the more harmful effects of alcohol but it didn't stop him from being an absolute dick once fully inebriated. 

Today wasn’t much different. Trunks was already pretty buzzed upon arriving home--probably drinking at work, he suspected--and Goten figured he’d pass out after a couple hours of brooding nondiscussion. 

At least, he thought that until the straight vodka came out and flooded into an 8 oz glass, the liquid splashing in little angry tidal waves against the sides before being poured down Trunks’ throat with a loud, burning exhale. He slammed the glass on the counter as he made himself another.

After so many months of pleasant cohabitation, the abrupt dissolution of civility and affection from his supposed best friend grated on Goten’s nerves. Most of his patience having ebbed away, Goten raised an eyebrow with incredulous irritation as he watched Trunks observe the clear booze swirling in the tumbler with half lidded, glassy eyes.

“What, no chaser?” he mocked. Those same blue eyes that used to look up at him with adventurous spark, slowly dragged themselves to his eyeline to pinch into a glare. 

“Did I ask for your opinion,  _ Mom _ ?” Trunks leered back, chugging a large gulp and grimacing.

Goten glared back, pulling the potent, noxious liquid out of Trunks’ grasp with a distinct screech of glass across the countertop.

“Here’s a thought: why don’t you take a minute and look in the mirror. All I see you do is go to work and come home to get trashed. This isn’t healthy and you know it. How about you stop holding it in and fucking talk to me for once.” 

Trunks rolled his eyes dramatically. “Nag me some more. See how that works out.”

Up until that point, Goten had felt himself to be the objective mediator. The symbolic parachute for when his impulsive and thrill-seeking friend jumped out of the plane head first. Even when they were kids, Goten considered himself Trunks’ voice of reason. A conscience with values that tagged along to do all the fun stuff but questioned, at least once, the things that they both knew were dangerous. Did he outright stop them from entering into the forbidden territory? No. But he was at least the warning sign in great big red lettering that they eventually shrugged off and climbed over.

He noticed he tended to keep his mouth shut more as they got older. Being content with existing in the same orbit with the seemingly more mature Trunks, so grown up that perhaps he didn’t need his childhood friend as a moderator anymore. 

Until then, he thought they had been on equal footing. Until then, he was sure he was capable of saving his friend from drowning. 

In that instant, as he watched Trunks extend his shaky hand to take back what he thought would numb the pain he refused to verbally acknowledge, Goten arrived at a state of clear understanding. 

Trunks hadn’t gotten over being the wild card in their duo. He had just gotten better at hiding those tendencies. 

The recklessness was still present, just manifested like a politician’s crooked justification for deceit. He didn’t take blame, for he thought himself blameless. He didn’t acknowledge personal problems for they didn’t really exist. He wouldn’t admit he had a devastating conversation with his father that upended their seemingly happy home life. And wouldn’t utter a word about how he was feeling about it. 

With the passive-aggressive, sneering, unpleasant, and, frankly, insulting attitude coming off this man on top of no sex or affection to maintain complacency, Goten was done with playing the nice guy. 

“Alright, that’s it. I'm done looking the other way with you. This needs to stop. Now.” Shaking his head, Goten ripped the bottle from his hands and began draining the remainder into the sink.

“Hey-” Trunks said with a slurring protest.

“I’m serious this time, Trunks. You can’t keep this up.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” 

“‘Cause I’m worried about you, dude! The drinking. Your family. You and your problem with Vegeta. I’m not stupid. You left to talk with him and when you came out, you were mute. And now you’re taking it out on me. Why are you punishing me?”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are! There's something going on. Say it,” Goten implored.

“I’m fine,” he stated while waving his hand dismissively.

Goten scoffed. There it was. The typical auto response from the man who was perpetually masquerading as being ‘fine’. Even if he was in a ditch, bleeding out, under Beerus’ foot, he’s ‘fine’.

“You are so fucking far from fine, Trunks. This is not fine. This is a bandaid on some deep shit you won’t let anyone in on. Gods, it’s like you’re a totally different person when you go to Capsule in the morning. Like you lose all confidence once you go out the door. You don't visit your family anymore. You don’t spar anymore. You don't talk to anyone besides me. You constantly try to one-up yourself at your job. I’m surprised you haven’t had anything horrible happen from how thin you’re stretched.”

“I have to run that company one day! I am under a lot of pressure. So I let some things fall to the side. Big deal. Is it wrong to know I can do better?”

“You push yourself too hard.”

“I push myself enough-”

“-But your dad is definitely worse on you.” Goten interrupted, fully bent on airing out the entirety of his grievances. “The way you stand when you’re around him, it’s like you’re still a kid and you’re expecting him to yell at you. You beat yourself up for not being what he wants instead of just living your life. You try to do whatever you can to make him proud. You already do. Don't you see that?” 

Trunks narrowed his eyes darkly, too bitter and buzzed to listen. “You don't know him. You don't know what he said.”

“You won’t tell me!” He pointed out in exasperation. “I was practically raised by the man like you were. For fuck’s sake, he was more of a father to me than my own was when we were little. My dad wasn’t in my life until I was 7! Those are formative years, dick.”

“But you’re  _ not _ his  _ son _ .” Trunks spat back. The maliciousness in his tone was not lost on the younger man.

“Oh come off it, man. “ Goten groaned as he rubbed his hands across his face. “You act like you’re the only one with problems. The difference between you and me is I don't wallow in self-pity. I moved on with my life and didn’t let  _ my dad _ control it.

“And then there’s us. You’ve been living here for months. What are we, dude?” he stated heatedly. The younger man’s fists vibrated at his sides. “Why didn’t you ever say anything back then?” There was a distinct crack to his voice. 

Trunks’ face fell, appearing unsure of what to say.

“Three years ago, we were in your room. We kissed. I touched you. Then nothing.” Goten supplied.

Trunks cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’re gonna bring this up now? It was a long time ago-”

“Only because you won’t. Why do you do it, huh? Fake like nothing’s there?” Goten’s face burned red with humiliation. “And I let you pretend.” 

“C’mon, ‘Ten…," Trunks attempted to soothe. 

Having hit the end of his friend’s placations and excuses, Goten leaned in close to his face, sneering accusingly. “I want to know. Why did you abandon me? For three years. There wasn’t even an  _ attempt  _ at contacting me when I tried to keep in touch. I always thought we were best friends. You just stopped talking to me after that night.”

Goten hoped his blunt words cut deep. Trunks probably wanted to be angry, insulted, furious. Instead, he hung his head in shame.  _ Good. _

“I don't know why,” he whispered.

“Yes, you do,” Goten hissed. 

“I really don't.” Trunks tried to explain while reached out and placed his hands on Goten’s forearms, “Listen, let me-” 

Goten snapped his arms away in seething rejection. “No, Trunks. You can't keep doing this to me. You act like you want to be together one minute then you go all cold. Do you even fucking care?”

“I mean, yea…,” Trunks mumbled pitifully.

“Convincing,” he bit back. “As long as we don't talk about it, everything’s cool, right? Not in your room, not at your old apartment.”

He watched as Trunks balked but said nothing. 

"And that camping trip. You remember that? Where I would wake up in the middle of the night and you had your arm around me. That tent was clearly big enough for, like, 5 people,” he pushed.

"Don't." Trunks’ mouth thinned as he spoke the warning. 

"Three days, dude. You couldn't go  _ 10 minutes _ without finding some reason to touch me. I don't think any of our friends spar like _we_ do," Goten said in salacious provocation. He knew he'd hit a very sensitive nerve while abandoning his penchant for being delicate about their situation. 

Trunks pursed his lips, hackles rising in defense. "Watch it, 'Ten-”

“Oh, that's right. We don't talk about how you want it,” Goten sneered, enjoying finally getting a rise out of constantly-in-denial Trunks. He drove his point home by intentionally being crude. “You were like a horny slut bitch. I can’t deny you give the best head I’ve ever gotten-” 

“Shut the fuck up!-” Trunks yelled, his face burning and the hair rising at the back of his neck as he clenched his fists. Goten had gotten bold. Trunks did not look happy with the idea of losing control of the argument.

Having reached the limit to his tolerance, Goten pushed Trunks hard enough that the older man banged into the counter at his back. “You’re a shitty friend, you know that! You won’t let yourself  _ feel _ anything because you’re afraid of what daddy thinks. We’re living together but you won’t even look me in the eye. Tell me what he said!”

“You don't know anything, ‘Ten. Shut the fuck up!” he spat and pushed back.

“No! I see you hide behind your fake-ass girls. You even used Marron to throw people off the scent rather than admitting what you feel!”

“I loved her!” Trunks balled up his fist furiously.

“I don't doubt you loved her but you liked the idea of her more. It wasn't even enough to stay." Goten scoffed derisively.

“You need to back the fuck off, ‘Ten, or I swear-,” the thrum of energy collecting within Trunks’ palm.

“If you loved her so much, why did you let her go?! Why me, huh? When are you gonna let me in?!” Goten screamed.

“Never! I don't  _ want  _ you!” Trunks yelled as he reared back and swung with concentrated ki, hitting Goten hard in the chest in a burst of light.

Trunks was still slightly inebriated and Goten had the forethought to brace so as to only crash into the far wall without going all the way through. He left a good sized dent that spiderwebbed up the drywall as he stood. Trunks rushed him further to only be grappled to the floor by the younger man. He thrashed under Goten’s much more sober body, his arms pinned under powerful legs. 

When he stopped struggling, Goten leered into Trunks’ face provokingly. 

“You’re a liar.” He could feel the heat from Trunks’ breath on his lip. “What do I mean to you?”

Trunks snarled as tried to avoid the question. 

“What do... I mean... to you?” Goten pressed again, a huskiness to his enunciation as he gradually released Trunks’ wrists.

Trunks watched as Goten wet his lips. When free, Trunks grabbed Goten roughly by the shirt and jerked him close, pressing his mouth to his own. There was a small whisper of hurt that flashed across Goten’s mind in realizing this was how Trunks got his way. He should stop. The warning that he desperately should stop, to save himself more heartache as he continued to knead wantonly into Trunks’ growling mouth. The warning silenced, throwing all caution to the wind as Goten felt himself yield to the fevered uncontrollable lust. 

As the need to close the distance grew, Goten pressed his body to Trunks with their hips grinding through their clothing. There was a distinctive gasp as the younger man dug his hand into the waistband of Trunks’ boxers and held firm. 

Trunks shut his eyes tight with a pleased groan until Goten pulled him into his chest and up off the floor hurriedly. Essentially dragging him out of the kitchen by his cock, Goten dropped the older man into the couch unceremoniously where Trunks observed him red faced and panting. 

Dropping to his knees, the younger man unbuttoned Trunks’ pants and yanked them off, along with his boxers, all while keeping his penetrating gaze focused on Trunks’ scrutinizing one. Without a word, he licked his hand and began a quick, grueling pace that made Trunks’ toes curl against the carpet. 

Through groans, Trunks shut his eyes again, seeming to relish in the feel of his friend’s hand working him as he had all those years ago with the same vigor he remembered. Lost in the feeling, he gasped unexpectedly when he felt the pad of Goten’s tongue taste him initially before taking what he could while still moving up and down his shaft with a tight fist, putting all his rage and frustration behind it. 

By the way Trunks drug his fingers through Goten’s hair, raking his scalp and spurring him on, it looked as though no fellatio by any female he’d engaged with compared to the mouth of his best friend. The blue eyed halfling sputtered a blissful exhale as he alternated between running his fingers through Goten’s hair and restraining himself from ripping up the couch. Goten knew he was getting close, the whimpering whine a familiar cue, Goten gripped Trunks’ hips to make him turn over suddenly onto his stomach. Trunks panted while pressing his face into the seat cushion, impatiently anticipating what was next. 

The foil ripped, the crackling of bubbles being popped in viscous lubrication as Goten rolled the condom down, pressing in a lubed exploratory finger, then two, probing before he used his knees to spread Trunks’ legs apart. He ran his rough hands along the musculature of Trunks’ back, feeling the older man roll his waist and shoulders into his hands as he kneaded the warmed skin. When Goten’s hands finally found purchase at his hips, he heard Trunks sigh in pure relief. 

On impulse Goten grazed his teeth along Trunks’ shoulder blade as he thrust in, perhaps a bit harder than intended. Trunks winced then moaned shamelessly, arching his back into his partner. The need to protect was overwhelming. Whether it was through booze or sex, Goten needed Trunks to know, to feel, that he was cherished. That he was undeniably and unashamedly wanted. Desperately, he needed Trunks to acknowledge it.

* * *

As Goten lay in bed they finally ended up in and watched his lover sleep off the dregs of intoxication, he extended his hand only inches from Trunks’ jawline to brush away stray hair. He pulled it back swiftly with a frown. If tonight was any indication of what Trunks was willing, or rather unwilling, to share about himself and would rather bury it in the backyard with all the rest of his feelings, perhaps it was time for Goten to find the strength to leave. They could live in separate houses and just be friends again. He could actually move on with someone that didn't put him through hell on a daily basis. He knew deep down that the affections he possessed for the older half Saiyan stopped at his fingertips yet couldn't extend until the other was ready. At the current time, Goten wondered if the emotionally stunted Saiyan would ever be ready. He wasn't sure how long he’d be willing to wait.

Goten pinched his lips together, conflicted over all the calculating ways Trunks tended to toy with his emotions. He listened to the sound of his friend breathing. He heard a light groan then saw the faint outline of Trunks’ eyes open and blink slow.

“Love you, ‘Ten.” Trunks muttered as his eyelids grew heavy again and closed.

Goten’s mouth hung slightly open. The utterance from inhibition and drowsiness stung. Those 3 words he desperately wanted to hear every day, all day, for years, yet only said in the darkest hour of the night, in a hazy forgettable blur, was like a whisper-soft secret he wasn't supposed to be consciously aware of. Goten laid his head on the pillow, chewing the inside of his cheek. He glowered to the ceiling.

No matter how much he wanted to just let him go, Goten knew he’d never be able to. The camping trip solidified the predestined bond they both felt for each other, and while each of them would try and play the field with women, Goten couldn’t understand why he was unable to move past whatever existed between them. Even though he knew he should move on, those three words lovingly etched themselves on his skin like an invisible tattoo. 

“I love you, you selfish, prick bastard.” He sulked pitifully, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand before turning over and letting exhaustion take him.

* * *

After what felt like only 20 minutes of a hazy REM cycle, Trunks woke with a start to almost blinding illumination cutting through the darkness from his phone. The obnoxious vibration on the bedside table pelted his sensitive ears like a jackhammer. He rooted around for the device and squinted at the screen in confusion.

The phone was on its last ring by the time he was cognizant enough to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Trunks? It’s your mother.” She said tonelessly over the line.

Knowing full well who it was, he knitted his eyebrows as if thinking he misheard her. “Yea, I know,” he replied dubiously. “What’s up?”

He felt Goten stir, his solid forearm draped over Trunks’ midsection grope possessively in a rousing embrace. He blinked several times and observed Trunks with bleary eyed perplexity. 

“I need you to come to the house right now. Fly here. Don't drive. Don't talk to anyone. Do you understand?” She said with trepidation in her voice.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as Goten scrutinized his face in concern.  _ What’s going on _ , he mouthed.

Only on especially rare occasions did his mother, the heiress to the most powerful company in the world, and wife to one of the most powerful beings in the known universe, show fear. As far as he was concerned, she was the epitome of fearlessness. Not scary fearless, like Goten’s mother Chichi, but the kind of person who could stand up to a God of Destruction and slap him across the face for being a bad guest at her birthday party. 

He knew better than to question her further. Her tone said everything.

He jumped from the bed immediately after responding with ‘yes’ and hanging up. Goten kept badgering him with questions about the call but Trunks ignored him, throwing on whatever clothes he could find in a haphazard rush. 

The last thing he recalled in the early hours before dawn was the chill that went through him as he opened the window and dove out into the night, taking flight over the city. A small group of reporters circled the apartment building, setting up cameras and chatting with Styrofoam cups of coffee. He hoped beyond hope they weren’t there for him. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Say it again.” Bulma requested for the fifth time in twenty minutes, her arms crossed stiffly in her prim grey suit jacket. She looked exhausted. The caked on foundation may have worked in hiding the bags under her eyes, but the bloodshot white against her blue irises told a different story. Despite this, she appeared ready to put up a helluva fight as she and Trunks prepared within a small, soundproof room in the executive offices of Capsule Corp. The chamber gave him claustrophobia; he felt like he was being crushed into the wall by the overstuffed leather office chairs surrounding the large oak table laden with stacks of court documents and company paperwork.

The rigidity of his mother's posture was amplified by her severe pencil skirt and heels, and reflected in her red lips pressed into a tight line and her hair wrapped in a blue bun, not a strand out of place. She had her ‘don't fuck with me’ face on. 

Trunks eyed her with immature amusement as he leaned on a mahogany bookcase on the far end of the room. After so many years being under her scrutiny, he knew how to play her game. He also knew how to cheat the system. 

Rolling his eyes with the repetition, Trunks sighed through a smirk as he placed his hands into the dress slacks of the tailored suit that had been fitted for the occasion. 

“Which part, Mom?” he asked sarcastically. He had repeated the same banal monologue for an hour, penned of course by their best in public relations. It only took an hour for him to become bored of it and begin to slack off.

As she pinched the bridge of her nose with vexation, both turned at the sound of a distinct throat clear at the far end of the room. The noise made Trunks stand a little straighter as Vegeta, who had been sitting stiffly in a leather office chair in an even stiffer charcoal grey suit, made himself known, evidently unamused with the flippant question. If Trunks hadn’t been actively ignoring the quietest man in the room, he would have almost forgotten he was there. 

“I would suggest you do not continue to disrespect your mother. Are you going to be serious for once or should I have your nine year old sister do it for you? I would assume she would be a much more suitable speaker. At least she would recognize when to follow directions and would not be so damn childish about it,” he quipped through narrowed eyes. 

For once, Trunks felt bold enough to cut his eyes at his father. “I am being serious, Dad. Can’t you tell?” Trunks snapped back sarcastically. 

Ever since the urgent phone call with his mother, Trunks had been staying at the compound and going over every excruciating detail of the litigation Capsule was under. Seeing his father as one of the main reasons why every conversation with Goten resulted in a fight, he took to sarcasm and avoidance with the man, which only made the tenuous situation between them worse.

“Don’t be cute with me, boy. You may not care about the momentous hole you’ve dug yourself into but at least show your mother the appreciation she deserves for assisting you, instead of this obnoxious immaturity you’ve decided to bring to the table today.” 

Sneering at his dad, Trunks opened his mouth to retort when Bulma stepped between them, putting her hands up as a signal for a cease fire.

“Alright, that’s enough. Both of you, stop. I’ve had it up to here with the snark in our family. You’ve been at each other's throats for a week.” She put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. “Look, I’ve already done a press conference as the face of Capsule and, as it’s a family business, it’s Trunks’ turn. Do you think it helps him to prepare with you glowering at him?” 

Vegeta’s lips went to a line as tight as her own as he crossed his arms tightly over his barrel chest, the chair under him squeaking as he swiveled it slightly. “No,” he tersely replied.

She drew her glare back to her son. “As for you, don't think you got out of trouble, young man. We need you-,” she began, then corrected herself with a deliberate exhale, “ _ I  _ need you to do this interview with as much tact and poise as possible. This is your Grandfather’s legacy,  _ our _ legacy and if this company goes under…”

She stalled as the words left her mouth and bit the inside of her cheek, willing her eyes to not water and ruin her perfectly painted face. Having a fastidious and cunning nature, his mom was usually the one with all the answers to life’s problems. Seeing her showing cracks under pressure, the genuine worry in her eyes, forced him to pull back and reconsider. Were they under legitimate threat?

“We’re not _ really  _ gonna lose the company… right?” he said tentatively, searching her face for answers.

The hardened look of a steely CEO returned in moments as she ignored his question. “We need to stay united and that means sincere statements, controlled answers for the press, and maintaining composure for our stockholders before the lawyers take over to sort out this mess. Our family is together on this. You work for Capsule, you need to represent her as I had to. As I know you can, Trunks. Please.” 

The immense respect he had for his mother caused his shoulders to slump under the weight of her pleading gaze. He had gone too far. “I was going to, Mom. I was just… joking,” he mumbled. 

“This is our highest priority. Our company’s reputation depends on what you say. What we do from here on out can make or break us. Now, I understand the incident happened under your watch, and I know it was an accident…” She trailed off with hesitancy, viewing him with an imploring gaze.

At the mention of the incident, Trunks kept his face firmly guarded. Better that she and the lawyers speculate it was fatigue that set off the chain of events that led to Capsule being under liable inquiry. Better than the foggy memory of that day with a stack of never ending paperwork in a job he absolutely hated, stamping his signature mindlessly on anything that went under his nose. Better than the half empty bottle of amber colored truth in the locked drawer in his desk. 

She sighed and clutched his hand. “I know I’ve been working you too hard,” she muttered, her brows stitching together.

Trunks restrained the flinch at his mother’s self admonishment. He didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he was mostly thinking when all this was over, how relieving it would be to kick back with a glass of whiskey neat in a crystal highball and let the lawyers deal with the rest of this legal crap. 

She touched his face with her delicate hands, her bright red manicured nails shiny under fluorescent lighting. He let her linger for a moment then pulled away as one of their attorneys, with sharp features akin to a vicious doberman, snapped that it was time. The mechanized steel doors swished open to the Capsule Corp. conference room where ten rows of reporters and journalists waited. It was wise to have the press conference on their home turf, the hounds said, to establish the power dynamic was on their terms. 

Trunks approached the sleek podium with the round Capsule Corp logo affixed to the front, his family and the pack of well paid guard dogs at his back. Vegeta stood at his right with a focused hunter's gaze. While he may have been short, quiet, and unemotive, the Saiyan held a presence that couldn’t be overlooked, much like a tiger lying in wait and watching its prey from the shadows, deciding whether or not it was hungry. Bulma remained firmly at Vegeta’s side and seemed to enjoy using her husband’s presence to her advantage as she stood proudly beside him, the tamer of big cats, exuding dominance and control that could be felt by every journalist there. 

Trunks assessed the room with a confident and charming smile. He knew without a shadow of a doubt the media adhered to caution around the Briefs family. No matter the circumstance.   


The flurry of camera shutters buzzed like angry wasps gearing up to attack as he proceeded with a short, rehearsed statement—deeply sorry for the events, hadn’t intended for such a devastating incident to occur, hoped the families of the wounded were okay, would do everything in the company’s power to make things right. 

As the dutiful face of the company, Trunks kept some of the more dangerous cards close to his chest. Like how they expected to lose millions in settlements and damage control. Or worse, as his mother furiously voiced, the PR nightmare that would surely haunt them for years if not decades in the attempts to repair public opinion of the once flawless corporation. Taking the time to express empathy and concern had the potential of shifting the favor back. 

He recalled pointing into the faceless crowd of reporters and journalists once it was their turn to volley. Question and after question flew around him like the air was made of noise. 

_ “Mr. Briefs! Mr. Briefs! Can you confirm Capsule Corporation is at fault for the mining explosion?” _

_ “Is this being considered negligence?” _

_ “The Capsule stock has already suffered severe loss, will you have to restructure?” _

_ “How do you personally respond to the victims and their families?” _

_ “Who is responsible?” _

_ “What can you say about your family and the future of Capsule?” _

Every question was returned with practiced answers recited like the son of the most cutthroat woman in the industry should respond. All but one.

“What does your boyfriend say about this?” A woman with short red hair and pinched face inquired as she held her handheld recorder aloft for his response. He blinked, awoken from the autopilot trance. His throat felt immediately dry as he tried to stop himself from flinching.

“Excuse me?” He said slightly higher than intended. “I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

The room erupted in camera clicks as he tried to keep a straight face. The clever wasp smiled as if she knew exactly what to ask to cause a painful sting.

“Your boyfriend? The one you’ve been seen with on several occasions. I was merely inquiring as to his thoughts on the accident in question.” He swallowed thickly as he felt his father’s ki raise for a moment then subside. 

_ Irrelevant. His thoughts are irrelevant, you conniving bitch.  _ Trunks wanted to shout, as blood rushed to his face in repressed anger.

As far as the media was concerned, the Briefs personal lives were pleasantly untouchable. Any publication mentioning them was almost exclusively geared towards scientific advancements and mechanical wonders. With billions of dollars lying in wait to sue any publication even hinting at a slander, gossip mags taking pot shots at his family were few and far between. This woman was bold, most likely new, and unafraid of hitting him where it hurt. He hadn't expected being called out about his personal affairs in the slightest. 

He ignored the bead of sweat prickling at his brow. “The private lives of myself and my family have nothing to do with the accident in question. I suggest we stay on topic.” He redirected. 

The damage was done.

It didn’t matter what he said next. The only thing he was certain of, as he stuttered his way through the next few questions until Bulma cut him off, thanked the journalists for their time and escorted him out, was that he really needed a stiff couple of drinks to help numb the way a single question had stupidly made him falter. 

By the time Bulma turned around to ask what the hell just happened, Trunks was nowhere near. He’d flown home in a blind rage to shower and hit the nearest bar to forget about his troubles that would most likely be front page news the next day. Thankfully he had a bevy of high paid supporters that would get ahead of it before that happened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the thanks I can muster for my two amazing betas Chameleon and DBZKink. I'm am so very appreciative of your friendship and support. Please go check them out as their own works are simply the best.

“To my lawyers and PR department! I thank those overpaid bastards for making this morning’s shitshow interview into a distant memory.” Trunks slurred through his toast as he knocked back the 10th shot, filled to the brim and dripping down his unsteady hand. 

At the older half Saiyan’s annoying coax, Goten frowned, sighed, and tossed back his own glinting green shot with a grimace. Then he glared, his eyes feeling weary and strained. The heat from the alcohol churned in his less than tolerant system. He didn’t drink. Not enough to handle this. Certainly not with such regularity as his purple-haired, asshole friend did. 

The bass from house music at the packed nightclub, along with the dim lights and raucous laughter of patrons, droned on like ever-present white noise to his sensitive hearing. What possessed him to come out and watch Trunks get trashed had all but became a distant memory as intoxication took hold. Bits and pieces of a fractured memory played as a steady reminder of the poor choices that lead to him being pressed up against strangers in the posh bar. The billionaire’s son flaunted his wealth among transient friends who circled him excitedly as long as the booze didn't run out. With Trunks’ wallet, it never would.

Goten recalled some texts from days earlier. They’d fought. They’d reconciled. Then Trunks left out the fucking window. The message was short; something about ‘Capsule bullshit.’ Of course Trunks was going to keep the specifics to himself. It was probably the kind of thing he kept tight-lipped so as to prevent any unnecessary questions that would surface. Or any offers of help. Heaven forbid he risk letting Goten in.

Regardless of the brevity of the correspondence, Goten assumed the man would come home. He didn’t. Trunks’ absence nettled him more than he’d like to admit. The lack of information or response during what seemed like another stressful event in the older man’s life made Goten feel uncomfortably starved for attention and out of the loop. 

When, finally, a text surfaced earlier in the day casually asking if Goten wanted to hang out, he found himself jumping at the chance. Only to discover the meeting place was a bar. And the object of his affection was already hammered and surrounded by unfamiliar people by the time he’d arrived. Some ‘hangout’. 

From past experience, Trunks was fun and charming when only lightly drunk. When the tide turned to his angry drunk phase, he was absolutely intolerable. This example in front of him was a new low. As Goten entered the overpacked space on a Friday night, he cringed. The man looked downright sloppy and disheveled, upright only thanks to the buxom girl under his arm. He must have had some control left, for the slip of a thing with an ample chest looked like she could barely carry an empty purse, much less a sloshed Saiyan male. That control wouldn't hold out much longer, though.

"'Ten! Dude! Over here!" Trunks awkwardly waved, the crowd around giving him room to view the new addition.

Trunks managed to drop his busty support onto a barstool before clapping Goten hard on the back. He blearily beamed as he proffered a shot in congratulations. To himself, of course. Goten held the glass aloft while he watched Trunks turn his attentions back to the smiling red face of the strange girl of interest. 

Goten didn't know why he decided to take the first drink. Or the next 4. With the fifth in his grip, he watched Trunks ogle his arm candy salaciously and downed the liquid with disdain.

Trunks curled his lip into a smirk as he looked up.

Why did that smirk have to be so damned...intoxicating. His vision went askance.  _ Shit. I don't drink, _ he thought as he accidentally knocked over a glass on the bar top and observed it fall on the floor in what he experienced as slow motion. Realizing he’d both been practically ignored the whole evening and was heading into the dangerous territory of losing self-control, Goten rose from the stool clumsily. Sourly, he was pretty sure Trunks wouldn’t even notice his exit. 

Goten managed to make it to the front after wading through a sea of swaying bodies, his head swimming along with them. The outside air was gentle and cool. He took it in bursts, willing himself not to puke. As he pressed a clammy hand against the outside of the establishment, he heard his name. 

“‘Ten.” So he did notice. “Hey, ‘Ten. Are you leaving?”

Goten rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “Yea. I’m tired. I have work in the morning,” he lied. He just wanted to lie down in a quiet bed and deal with the consequences when the sun was up. 

The brisk night air must have had a sobering effect on the older halfling as he seemed far more energetic than he should be considering how much liquid Goten watched him down like water. 

“Don’t go! I need my wingman.” A hand clapped him on the back again. 

Goten sneered. “Wingman? Are you serious?” he said, genuinely offended. “ _ We live together. _ ” He pointed out. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Being so inebriated, it was hard to hold back.

Slow cognizance dawned, but was quickly replaced with a goofy flippancy as Trunks scratched his chin. “Are you mad about the girl? Dude, we’re just hanging out. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

The blas é attitude of peacocking in front of pretty people grated on Goten’s last nerve. All he wanted was a moment with him. Clearly, Trunks didn’t care. Goten pushed past him with a shove. “I’m done. Have a nice night.”

“Aw c’mon, ‘Ten.” Trunks trailed behind. “Don’t be like that. We’re all having fun.”

Trunks gripped Goten’s forearm. Goten yanked it away, much to the older man’s surprise. Goten hissed, “Fun? I’m not having fun, Trunks. I haven’t had fun with you in a long time.”

For a moment, Goten regretted his words as unmistakable pain crossed Trunks’ face. Trunks said, “That’s not true.” 

“It is, dude. And the fact that you’re so,” he held back the impending feeling of throwing up through an unpleasant burp that tasted like peppermint, “unaware of it is just insulting.”

Goten watched as Trunks’ face shifted from hurt to anger. “Well, fine. If you’re gonna be such a buzzkill, then fucking leave. I invited you ‘cause I thought you’d be cool to hang out with. I had a shitty day. I needed this.” 

“No,” Goten interjected, “This,” he waved a clumsy hand around the space of a mistake waiting to happen, “is not something anyone  _ needs _ . You need  _ help _ . If you’d talk to me, then-”

“Gods, you’re like a broken record. All anyone does is tell me to talk. Talking doesn’t solve shit, okay?” Trunks replied with a sneer as he made his way back to the entrance. “If you’re gonna be such a downer, man, then go. I don't need you. I don't need anyone.”

Goten’s head was swimming again. Goten heard the door open as the noise from inside drained out in a wave of sound to then shut off almost immediately as it slammed behind Trunks. Goten willed himself to stay on his feet, trying to push the bad decisions of the past couple of hours out of his head and determined to fly home the same way he got there earlier in the evening. No amount of self-determination could get his body to comply. The effort of attempted flight while hammered failed against gravity when he was only a few inches off the ground. Goten collapsed in a heap. Pain from smacking the back of his head hard against the stucco exterior of the club brought home how drunk he was. 

_ Just close my eyes for a minute,  _ he told himself as the world churned around him. A nudge to his leg roused him and he registered that he must have fallen asleep. The time spent dozing on the ground wasn’t enough. He needed at least 10 more hours. 

Goten craned his head up to see the last face he saw before passing out shaking his own head pitifully. “You’re still here, huh?”

Goten’s mind swam between being too tipsy and too tired to offer a response. Only when she spoke did he notice the girl from earlier hanging on Trunks’ arm and looking down at him as well. The big-boobed redhead. 

“Do you know him?” she asked, her inquiry more curious than critical. 

Goten’s eyes narrowed at the way Trunks wrapped his arm around her waist. 

Trunks smirked. “Oh yeah. He’s a very good friend of mine,” he said with a derisive quirk of his lavender eyebrow. 

Tired of being mocked, Goten tried to stand on his own two legs which had decided to be gelatinous whenever he put weight on them. Only with Trunks’ assistance could he maintain an upright position. As an irritating bonus, Trunks managed to get in a whispered hiss, “Don't say I never did anything for you,” adding insult to injury.

“Do you think he can make it to the car?” the girl said with concern in her louder than normal voice. 

“Yeah. He’s just heavy. I got ‘im.” Trunks responded with a grunt. Goten heard a click, a pop, and a cloud of smoke to reveal one of Trunks’ black roadsters in the empty part of the parking lot. The streetlights glistened off its sleek body paint. 

Hefted into the backseat, Goten’s fingers traced the leather seat in the dark cab, watched the girl slosh into the passenger side and Trunks wavered into the driver’s seat. The purple-haired man shook his head like he was splashing himself with cold water to wake up. 

Goten’s effort to stay awake was maddeningly difficult. 

“Are you sure you’re not too drunk to drive?” was the last thing he heard the girl utter before fading in and out of consciousness as the car peeled out into the road. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my beta, Chameleon. Check out her amazing fics!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveChameleon/pseuds/AveChameleon

Trunks groaned drowsily as his eyelids flew open. Without much warning, his stomach lurched and he panicked until his gaze zeroed in on the wastebasket at his left. He reached and puked into the can in heaving convulsions, yesterday’s light lunch of Bloody Marys, trails of yellowed bile and spittle coloring the plastic walls. 

Trunks glanced around his space in disorientation, then flinched as he adjusted himself to a seated position, dulled pain pulsing from his head to his feet. He was aware of the soft muffled voices from the other side of the wall as the room came into focus. A sterile, cream-colored room by the looks of it with one entrance and one double-paned window. He himself was in a bed covered with white crinkling pillows and equally white, crisp sheets. Before he could really determine how or where he was, his mother stood up from her chair across the room, a stern and solemn look upon her face. His eyebrows raised curiously as she approached his bedside. 

“You’re awake.” She said, placing a gentle hand on his exposed ankle. “Are you alright?” she asked in a monotone voice.

He slowly nodded. “Where am I?”

Her lips pursed; he could tell she was holding back. “Hospital. What’s the last thing you remember before now?”

A blur of lights and pounding music. Drinks. Laughter. Angry eyes. Bright rocks. A scream.

“A bar, I think. Everything’s all fuzzy,” he concluded, closing his eyes as if the effort of retrieving the memory was too much to handle. 

“You were in an accident,” she said flatly.

“Bad enough to land me in a hospital?” he queried half-amused, unsure how that was even possible. He noticed a pitcher of water and two white tablets next to an empty glass. Taking both items, he chugged the liquid if only to get the terrible tang of vomit out of his mouth. The pills went down easy.

“You drove while drunk. Exceptionally drunk, even for you. You put two others in danger. Do you remember who you were with?” Bulma asked and his mind searched. Searched. Nothing. 

“Trunks, listen to me very carefully” she instructed pointedly, restrained anger lacing her words. “The only reason I’m not… pummeling you… right now is because you’re in that bed but do not doubt the seriousness of the situation you’ve put yourself in. You nearly killed an innocent girl. And Goten.” A furious edge to her explanation cut through him as a sinking feeling dropped to his stomach.

“G-... Goten?” He muttered in hesitant disbelief, tightening his grip on the thin sheets. Like a lightning flash, he remembered the texts. Remembered dirt and rocks. Glass. He tried to remember the last time he saw Goten. Only specks came to him in a hazy, jumbled blur.

“You crashed your car into a ravine. You’re lucky we found you before anyone else did. The media would have had a field day over this. Goten is badly injured. The girl is in critical condition. The only reason she is not  _ dead _ is because I designed that car to withstand Saiyan negligence.

“I was sure you had learned your lesson this time. With everything that’s happened with the litigation, I thought you understood the need to lay low for a little while to protect our reputation. But you couldn’t stay out of trouble for _ 12 hours _ . What you’ve done is unimaginable. I’m sick when I think about how my son nearly killed an innocent girl, as well as my oldest friend’s youngest son.  _ Your _ best friend. 

“When I look at you now, Trunks, I have to genuinely convince myself, to repeat over and over, of my love for you… because, son... I am so  _ deeply _ disappointed.”

A knot clenched in his chest as he swallowed thickly, the taste of shame burning all the way to his gut. His whole face burned as he bit his lip hard to restrain the tears that threatened to form behind his eyes. 

She didn't wait for a reply but simply pivoted on her heel and knocked brusquely against his room’s door. He was surprised when he saw the person who entered in response was Gohan; someone he hadn’t intentionally interacted with in years, let alone in a private setting between himself and his mother. 

She threaded her fingers tightly in front of her. “I can’t force you to go to any sort of Earthling rehab. You’d escape without a problem and learn nothing. Thankfully, I did find someone that was willing to help you.”

Despite the humiliation he felt, Trunks reeled back in indignant self-preservation. “I don't need help,” he objected.

“Yes, you do. Your father and I realize we can’t keep permitting you to destroy yourself. Gohan has offered his time. I suggest you take this opportunity as another chance.” 

An array of thoughts flitted across his mind, from hurt to suspicion, till they finally landed on abject cynicism. He frowned deeply.

“Gohan,” he said scornfully. “You want me to… what? Live with Gohan or something?”

“You will do what Gohan asks of you for the entirety of the summer. If you’d like to return, you will work through whatever issues you have with him until he deems you safe to come home,” she informed him.

That sounded an awful lot like a threat. Immediately, his hackles rose from the sheer audacity of the request. No. Not request.  _ Demand _ . How dare she hang his home, his freedom, over his head. 

He scoffed obnoxiously. “Fuck that. I’m not doin’ it.” 

She stood and stared, unflinching. “You don't have a choice. As of now, every penny in your accounts has been frozen. For your own good. If you don't go with him, show an effort of working through whatever you’re going through, I will be forced to bar you from the compound-”

“You can’t do that!” He suddenly sat up in bed to only cry out in pain as a bloom of blood colored the bandage at his abdominals from his abrupt movement.

Other than an empathetic twitch to her brows at his discomfort, Bulma held steadfast. “I can and I will. As of now, you are no longer employed with us.” She sighed, her shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “I only want what’s best for you. Do you honestly like how you’ve turned out?” she asked, her hopeful mother tone coming through in the end.

“Yes.” He responded as he bared his teeth. How dare she take his livelihood from him! He earned his position, going through the school  _ she _ wanted, pushing himself through it and beyond when he joined the company. Working under her thumb for anything and everything she asked in a position he despised. She had no right to take it. She had no right to judge his lifestyle. 

Pained, she closed her eyelids slowly, then reopened them with a shimmer of wetness across her lashes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sorry that you can justify hurting your friends and family with your selfishness, hurting me. Which is why you need this treatment, Trunks.” 

“I won’t go.” He hissed obstinately. He focused all his energy on the staredown with his mother. He refused to even spare a small glance toward the other male in the room.

“I know this is hard. We’ve all run out of options. I blame myself for giving you so much freedom since you were little. I’ve pushed you too hard in a lot of ways, too. I blame myself as a mother for not seeing the signs before it was too late. Not asking more often how you were doing. I just always assumed with you being extraordinary, you were safe. I love you, honey. Please get well.” She said with an exhausted sigh before walking out and closing the door gently behind her. 

Somewhere in the distance, as he bored his gaze into the wall where she had stood, vision unfocusing as his thoughts ran wild, he heard the sound of a throat clear. 

“Hi there.” Gohan smiled genuinely. He took the few steps to his bedside and extended his hand in a friendly handshake.

Unwilling to even acknowledge it, Trunks continued to stare off at the wall—rigid, silent, and fuming. 

“Not talking, huh. Understandable. I guess I’ll just start then, with your itinerary. For the next four months, you’re going to be living with me, Videl, and Pan out on Mt. Pauzu.

“You and I are going to get up at dawn, have a few sessions of discussion in the morning and afternoon, and spend the rest of the time training. Doesn’t matter the order. We’ll eat at the house and you can work off your room and board with chores for Videl.

“I’d like you to keep a journal of sorts. Your own private thoughts on this workshop with me. I am going to have to take your phone and other electronic devices. They won't work way out there anyway. Do you have any questions?”

“Fuck. You.” Trunks hissed through gritted teeth.

Gohan shrugged his shoulders. “That wasn’t a question,” he said, unprovoked by the hostility. 

“I’m not going to live in your  _ fucking shack. _ ” He sneered incredulously. If his vision could burn, the far wall would have a craterous hole with how hard he was boring into it. 

“I understand you’re less than thrilled to-”

“I said, I’m not living in your backwoods outhouse, I’m not doing chores, I’m not writing in a  _ fucking diary _ , and I’m not spending a quarter of a year in the middle of nowhere with you and your hick family,” he venomously spat.

Gohan pulled his hands from his pockets unaffected as he rolled his shoulders, the muscles popping under his green button-down long sleeve shirt. “Are you done? I’d like to head out now.” 

Irritation peaked, Trunks sat up stiffer in bed, balling his fists and allowing energy to build around him. 

“You can’t fucking do shit! The last time I saw you exhibit any amount of fight was wrestling the wrapper off a popsicle. You are the  _ weakest  _ of all of us. You are a sham of a Saiyan. If you touch me, I  _ will _ kill you.” He warned, the hair at his scalp flickering from violet to blonde then back.

Gohan raised his eyebrows with a chuckle, “I thought as much. Which is why I enlisted Mister Piccolo to help me if you decided to resist.”

He opened the door and the Namekian strode through the threshold, bowing his head under the doorframe from his height and appearing less than thrilled to be there. Trunks’ leering vision switched between the two as he dug himself further into the mattress. He squared his shoulders in defense. 

“The two of you can’t compete with me,” he declared confidently, assessing his two adversaries. 

“There may have been some amount of struggle _ if _ you were at your full capabilities,” Gohan admitted, even-tempered. He took a moment to remove his glasses, put them gently in their case, and roll up his sleeves. “At the current moment, even with your strength and your anger, you are no match. I am going to be honest with you the whole time, Trunks, and that includes this moment. We will restrain you and get you to the house either with your cooperation or not. I suggest the former.” He took two steps forward. “You choose.”

“Don't touch me.” Trunks enunciated while his breathing quickened, taking in their calm demeanor and preparing himself for attack. 

He could take one, probably both if at full strength. As it were, he was too damaged for it not to be a disadvantage. The only real option he had was to escape through the window and find somewhere to lie low. His eyes flitted to the window. 

“This has to be done, Trunks. You are leaving this hospital in my care and I’ll do what's necessary to get you home.”

There was a moment of stillness, where nothing happened as Trunks sized up his enemies. Trunks then saw Piccolo drop his arms to his sides while Gohan disappeared to reappear at his left. In that instant, Trunks phased to the window, yet with his injuries and lack of true focus, his arms were captured and held down by tight green hands, a knee at his back as he was pressed to the floor just under the framed glass. He flailed violently, trying to break free, grunting and snarling under the Namekian’s weight. The last thing he saw was Gohan bend down to look him in the eye. Raise his fist. Put power behind it. He appeared almost… apologetic as he brought it down swiftly. Then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

Trunks woke with a start as the sun peeked into the room. The window was partially open letting in the scent of pines and wild grasses from outside, carried on the gentle breeze which made the homemade drapes adorned with bright sunflowers flutter lightly. An echoing clang of metal on metal somewhere in the house caused him to flinch; the pulsing of his temple and the pain behind his eyes hurt like a bad hangover. 

Sitting up with a grunt on a second unfamiliar bed in two days, Trunks took note of two things right away: that he still had the bandages from his accident bound around his hands, forearms, and abdomen, and that he was still dressed in an unflattering hospital gown, much too thin and small for his comfort. The scratchy dressings on his hands scraped across the cool cotton sheets as he glanced around the modest room. Taking in the scuffed wood flooring, white pine 4-drawer bureau and unimpressive flower décor, he realized much to his chagrin that he had been moved from the hospital against his will, and by  _ Gohan and Piccolo _ , no less. 

Bringing his lips to a cantankerous thinned line at that fact, Trunks ambled out of bed. He winced as his bruised side lit fire across his midsection from the movement and approached a small table with a wooden mirror hanging above it. Ignoring the evident ‘gift’ left for him on the furniture’s surface, he shoved aside an empty composition book and pencil onto the floor as he dragged his gaze to his reflection. He carefully inspected the black eye, bruising across his neck and a cotton wrap around his scalp, which he gingerly removed to reveal an  _ attractive _ angry red gash from his forehead to his earlobe. He chose not to waste time in surveying the rest of his body, figuring whatever happened to his face was probably evident everywhere else. 

“Fucking great,” he grumbled, wondering if he’d sport a scar like Yamcha’s. Most likely not— his Saiyan genes would help heal him faster than any human’s could. He threw the bandage into the trash while making his way to the door in search of a toilet. 

As he reached for the handle, a loud pattering began from far away then grew more clamorous beyond the wood portal. Without warning, the door flung inward, nearly smacking him in the face, and a beaming black haired girl stood at the threshold practically buzzing with excitement. 

“Hi, Trunks!” she said with exuberance, and at a much louder octave than his ears could handle at the moment. 

“Pan.” He groaned as he rubbed his temples, thoroughly vexed that his mother and Gohan had actually followed through on their threats at the hospital. 

The nine-year-old girl bounced on her heels in jeans and a black tee, trademark orange bandana atop her mess of black hair. The girl had an indomitable sense of adventure and an optimistic attitude at an age where most would consider it adorable. At the current time, Trunks viewed the child as obnoxious. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” She vibrated with exuberance.

“Me either,” he replied as he dug his fingers into his bleary eye sockets, groaning. What he would give for a strong drink. Certainly would make his incarceration in the boonies a hell of a lot more bearable. But as far as he knew, his current ‘caretakers’ didn't look like the partying type. In fact, Trunks would bet Gohan would be on his ass from a 2 ounce  _ cordial glass _ of peppermint schnapps even with Saiyan tolerance. It was possible the Son family squares could actually be cool and have a hidden liquor cabinet somewhere in the house, but that was highly unlikely. Even if he looked, he for sure would be under strict supervision by Gohan and his big green accomplice. No use trying to search out anything good while the drug-sniffing dogs were on active duty. 

He looked back up, realizing she had been chattering away. Even with his inattention, she hardly took a breath. 

“-For four months! I’m so excited. We all can go hiking and camping and sparring. We’ve never had anybody stay with us besides Grandma and Grandpa, and Mom said you were here for help but you look fine to me so-” she said, her mouth moving a mile a minute.

He held his hands up to still her babbling. He just needed some semblance of quiet. “Stop. I get it. Look, I’m a little,”  _ hungover, “ _ tired right now. Not really a morning person, okay?”

She nodded in slow understanding. “Oh. Okay. I was just coming down to tell you breakfast is ready.”

“Great. And I’ll be there. I just need a minute.” He forced a smile that irritated his pulsing temples. 

“Sure.” She beamed, pivoting on her heel. 

“Oh, and where's the bathroom?” he asked, watching her bound out the doorway.

“Across the hall. See you at breakfast!” she said while skipping to the kitchen.

He sneered as he stalked into the washroom, resisting the urge to petulantly slam the door.

“Looking forward to it.” 

* * *

Freshly sizzling bacon, a pile of fried eggs, rice, and an assortment of breakfast breads had been set out on the table as he sat down, scraping the chair on the hardwood floor on purpose. Nothing really looked appetizing at the moment as his stomach did flip flops from the booze and hospital meds. He picked up and held a napkin to his nose discreetly. Perusing the swath of food items, he frowned realizing there lacked any of his typical breakfast items—Mimosas or Bloody Marys.  _ So much for being good hosts _ , he thought as he wrinkled his nose.

Videl held out a carafe. “Coffee?” 

Without waiting for a reply, she began to pour the black liquid and filled his mug three-quarters of the way with an irritating smile. “Sure. Black,” he replied while making a face, moderately distrustful of her saccharine tone. 

“Are you going to eat?” Gohan suggested as he took a large bite into cinnamon raisin toast.

“No,” he replied coldly.

“I suggest you do. I let you sleep in a little but I’d like to get something of a workout today. The training is gonna be hard, mostly to see where you’re at. We’re not coming back 'til early evening.” Gohan casually informed, viewing Trunks from beneath raised eyebrows and thin rimmed glasses.

He scoffed confidently as he crossed his arms. “I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. Get changed. I’ll meet you out front in 10.” 

Rising from the table, Gohan removed his glasses, placing them in their case delicately and gave Videl a passing kiss on the cheek.

“Can I come, Dad?” Pan chirped hopefully as he strode behind her chair and down the hall.

“Not today, Pan. Another time, maybe.”

“Aw, man,” she sulked, taking an aggressive bite of pancake dripping with syrup.

“See you out there,” Trunks heard Gohan call, as annoyingly cheerful as ever.

“Whatever. Won’t take much to kick your out-of-shape ass,” he muttered under his breath while taking a final swig of coffee with a grimace. His headache pulsed as he considered what sort of clothing had possibly been packed for him. 

* * *

Nothing in the world could compare with the lush greenery of Mt. Pauzu in the summertime. Many popular art galleries in West City displayed landscapes showing the towering mountains, purple and yellow fields of wildflowers, rows and rows of trees that cast tall shadows on the almost fluorescent bed of grass. The art was a beautiful capture of the place he stood in but never like the real thing. Trunks tried his damndest to ignore the rush of the wind on his face, the bubbling stream nearby probably teeming with fish, or the smell of pine and musky earth that brought him back to his childhood with Goten. He couldn’t enjoy it. He was still indignant about the circumstances of his being there. 

He tsked watching the dark haired halfling stretch. “Now I want you to do some breathing exercises with me, Trunks,” Gohan said, raising an arm over his head and pulling his bicep taut.

“Point being?” he replied, arms crossed in aggravation. He had found the only outfits packed for him, either by his mother or Gohan himself, were t-shirts, tanks, shorts and a dark green gi with an orange belt, identical to his younger self’s gi from tournaments in the past, only sized up for his 23 year old frame. It mocked him in the drawer. It mocked him on his body.

“For relaxation. Do you meditate?”

“Not much,” he replied flippantly.

“Too bad. It’s nice to get out of your head every once in a while. Breathing helps with controlling your senses and feeling your surroundings without having to strain and focus.”

“I know how to sense ki,” Trunks replied with a sardonic bite and glaring. 

This whole exercise was a waste of time. Gohan standing around like a passive idiot babbling about breathing. If he was home and being forced to do training, he would be doing katas, keeping his mind sharp. His Dad would-

Trunks rubbed his forehead smartly, a splitting headache forming behind his eyes. Thankfully they were in the shade. The sun was too damn bright and cheerful at the moment. He folded his shaking hands across his chest. He couldn't quite get them to stop twitching.

“You okay?” the older Saiyan inquired. He was decked out in a purple gi similar to one he had in past battles as well. This particular ensemble looked new and unused. At least that was a sign for Trunks to not try as hard. Not like he was going to in the first place. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. Glancing back up, he was startled to see Piccolo casually standing next to Gohan, turban and cape resting on the ground nearby and observing him with his resting bitch face.

“What the hell? When did-” Trunks said, rather perplexed at how the Namek managed to avoid his notice. His Dad would scold him for not assessing his surroundings more carefully. 

“Just now,” Gohan replied, stretching out his legs in squat stretches.

“Why?” Trunks inquired peevishly, hitting his threshold of patience for surprises.

“He’s going to be training with us. I figured since it wouldn't take much to kick my out-of-shape… well, me, two on one seemed fair.” Gohan replied with a humored grin.

Trunks balked, having his words from breakfast turned against him into a two-on-one fight. Even if they were only sparring, he was definitely disadvantaged. His father’s voice in his head loomed.  _ Do not show your opponent weakness even if you know you’re outmatched.  _

“Well, as long as neither of you decide to knock me out with cheap shots on an injured party. I’m no longer in a hospital bed. I’m wise to your tricks,” he replied, assessing the two on whether his snide comment broke the skin. 

Much to his dissatisfaction, neither flinched. The deep chuckle from the Namekian drew Trunks’ attention as green arms flexed above his head and pulled in a series of muscle pops. The fanged smirk had the effect of making Trunks uneasy and he tensed his body for the imminent attack. Piccolo's eyes narrowed as he smirked. “So are you gonna throw a punch or are you just going to bluster all day, kid?” 

_ Kid?  _ That wouldn’t be taken lightly. Despite the throbbing in his head, Trunks clenched his fists and slipped a foot forward in a defensive stance.

“Ready when you are.” Decidedly unafraid despite knowing he was probably in for a painful workout by the end.

* * *

Lying flat on his back in the middle of a crater Gohan had flung him into, Trunks made a mental note to not wear loose clothing. Everything that hung away from his body had torn or ripped as he was pummeled senseless by two of the Earth’s greatest fighters. He took the precious fleeting seconds before they showed up from their position in the sky to catch his wavering breath, and winced sharply attempting to rise. Head swimming as it succumbed to vertigo, he slumped back down as quickly as he rose, small dust clouds lifting and falling around his body. 

The headache that began earlier in the day as a dull pulsing now felt like it was splitting his brain in half. He squinted as sweat collected near his eyes, stinging with salt and dirt. As he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand, a shadow loomed over him. Gohan blew out a breath with a smile. 

“Get up,” he directed with a sanguine tenor.

Trunks sneered at his positive energy. He’d had enough. “Fuck off.”

“C’mon. Get up. Hey, I’ll even help ya,” he said, extending his hand as a gesture of good will and sportsmanship. 

“Fuck. Off.” Trunks repeated, more forcefully this time. He rolled over onto his front and lifted himself onto his feet with as much coordination as he could muster. His hands shook involuntarily at his sides.

“I’m leaving,” he announced, trying to hide his shaking legs. He heard Piccolo grunt disapprovingly from under the shade of a tree nearby. Fuck him, too.

“Nope. We’re not done until one of two things happen.” Gohan phased in front of him but not close enough for Trunks to throw a punch. Which he wanted to do. Right in his stupid fucking face. 

“Oh? And what's that?” Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose. The pulsing in his temple was almost audible.

“We can keep sparring until the sun reaches that ridge,” Gohan said while pointing across the valley to a hill where the sun was just above it. “Or you can answer a few questions.”

“What kind of questions?” he asked with feigned interest.

“Ones you’ll probably not want to answer because you’re being intentionally difficult,” Gohan stated matter-of-factly.

Scoffing, Trunks considered his options. On one hand, he could continue to fight the surprising nimble Gohan and his green guard bitch or he could fake his way through some invasive questioning and be done. Squinting at that damn sun that had about another two hours before it disappeared behind the ridge, he sighed reluctantly and conceded for the time being.

“Ask away,” he responded, dry and derisive.  _ Here it comes. Saiyan talk therapy, amateur hour.  _

“Great. Oh, and before I forget, I will stress that whatever is said here between you and me is completely confidential. Okay?”

Trunks glanced from Gohan to Piccolo. Gohan didn't really need to say it. Trunks knew both of them well enough that a secret, however small, between himself, the Square and the Namek was practically safeguarded under lock and key. The reassurance was an unnecessary verbal contract and was all part of the irritating process, he figured. Trunks resolved to disclose as little as possible to satisfy his babysitters. Maintain the ruse and leave as soon as possible. 

“Fine,” he said, managing to suppress the internal derision from making its appearance on his face. 

“Do you feel sick at all today? Stomach aches?” Gohan began in an almost clinical fashion. His brow dipped down so that his eyes appeared to probe him, dissect him, find the fractures and devise a suitable treatment. 

“No,” Trunk flatly replied, feeling like a rather hostile patient. 

“Vomiting?”

“I just said I wasn't sick,” he quipped curtly.

“Shaking?”

“No,” he immediately lied and quickly averted his eyes. Gohan tilted his head and hummed unconvinced. 

“You sure?” The tone came out caring, knowing, searching. 

As he observed the other man assessing himself, Trunks realized then that the line of questioning was intentional for discerning a condition he, as a Saiyan man, hadn’t even considered he could be affected by. His headaches, morning purge, shaking hands- all symptoms of substance withdrawal. 

Trunks chewed on his tongue as he took a moment before murmuring under his breath, “My hands.”

Appearing as if he was ticking off mental boxes, Gohan continued, “Headaches?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted through tight lips.

“Bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Hungry?”

At that, Trunks blinked, taken aback, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Gohan lifted his face with a positive grin. “Okay. Thanks for answering,” he said before turning and grabbing a water bottle out of a gym bag on the grass. 

Trunks watched him with puzzlement, having expected far worse from the inquiry. “That's it?” 

“That's it. Let's go have dinner. Thank you, Mr. Piccolo.” He nodded to the Namekian.

“Anytime, Gohan. Trunks.” 

Trunks' eyes followed the Namekian take to the sky at the same time Gohan zipped up the bag and began walking home. 

Though still utterly baffled and bitter about the whole involuntary captivity, Trunks was simply too exhausted to care at the moment and reluctantly followed. He’d probably gorge when they got back. He was too famished not to eat out of spite.


	13. Chapter 13

Without really opening his eyes, Goten knew for sure he hated this bed. It was all stiff and uncomfortable, lacking all the grooves he had built up to sleep well. The sheets did nothing to keep him warm as he grunted and twisted under constricting cotton. He groaned, body demanding more rest, when he decided to stretch. A sudden influx of aches and pains shot through his system and he winced in alarm. Gods, his head hurt. He managed to open one eye and became more perplexed as he surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. 

It was not completely dark; there were outlines of items hidden in the shadows, metal glinting against little LED lights, plastic tubing, three vacant pictureless walls. He struggled to sit up on an overly creaking mattress that was very much not his own. 

Before he had time to adjust his eyesight to the strange room, a bright white light flicked on with a fluorescent buzz and he shaded his brow with his hand. He drew his features together perplexedly at the woman standing at the foot of his bed.

“Valese?” 

He was momentarily stunned to see her. In their last painful moments together half a year ago, she had been crying in his arms, fresh in breakup mode while he tried to explain it wasn’t her fault. They had ended things mutually, agreeing to stay friends, and without delving into the core reason behind the separation. Her tears always made his chest hurt. 

She was uncharacteristically disheveled in black sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt covering her thin body. Her brown hair was up in a messy bun and she had no makeup to cover the evident bags under her eyelids. While they were dating, Valese made attractiveness look easy. The fact that she now looked utterly exhausted, instead of her usual sunny yellow disposition, was unexpected. Though, she didn't appear to care as she strode over, a sympathetic smile softly wrinkling tired eyes only focused on him.

“Goten. Hi.” She touched his cheek with careful fingers. “I heard you get up. Can I help you with anything?”

Her touch was warm and gentle and he placed his hand on hers, grateful for something familiar as he looked around the foreign area. Half of what she said registered until it clicked-

“I’m in the hospital.” He stated in slowed recognition but lacking some crucial details. 

“Mhm. For about 30 hours.” She informed him.

As he tried to recollect how he ended up there, she pulled him into a tight embrace. Her arms around his neck felt both relieved and broken at the same time.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You looked awful there for a bit.” She said with hushed concern. “I was so worried. You were in a horrible accident, did you know that? Your Mom called me and said you were here. You don’t even drink. How did this happen?”

_ An accident. The bar.  _ His stomach churned at the thought of how much he consumed.

Avoiding her questions, he hugged her back, reflexively petting the waves of her brown hair in a soothing gesture. His brows furrowed.  _ People laughing. Trunks’ crooked smile. The drive. Red hair _ -

Goten sat up in alarm. “Where’s the girl?” He asked, panicked, fearing the worst.

Valese pulled back in stricken distress. “She’s alive.” Valese finally uttered, heavy with implication from miraculous intervention. The whisper of it filled him with the sense of dread.

“Where is she?” He insisted.

“Here at the hospital. But I don't-”

Wincing as he rose from the bed, his hand clutched his heavily bandaged midsection. He needed to know where exactly. Valese held him steady, begging for him to lie back down. Guilt was far stronger and she hesitantly agreed to escort him to the woman he barely remembered but was sure was worse off than he was due to the carelessness of a friend. 

As Valese played reluctant look out, Goten stood just beyond the woman’s hospital bed. He could hardly breathe, afraid he may be taking away precious oxygen from someone who clearly needed it more. Several bouquets of flowers bloomed at her bedside table, evidence from loved ones, trying to cheer up the recovery room as she slept. The staff had shaved her head, put her in several casts, hooked her up to monitors and machines that kept her going. They beeped and blipped steadily, each trill marking another second of her life stuck in a hospital bed, rather than outside with her friends and family where she belonged. Because of something bigger than she knew. Because of something he did. Or didn't do.

“I’m sorry,” Goten said into the stillness, the scent of sterile apparatuses and antiseptic cleansers making his eyes water. He needed to make this right. Even if there was only one, someone had to have a sensu somewhere. He would be fine without. He would endure his wounds and his deserved blame.

At the door, Valese coughed subtly, her lookout signal drawing his attention that their covert visitation needed to end before they were noticed. He sighed, leaving the woman to her rest. He moved out of her recovery room but hung around near enough that he could still spy her through the drawn binds, her outline making him pinch his lips with shame. 

Valese tried to smile. Tried to hold his hand, which he took as friendly support. Her sympathetic presence alone was the shoulder he needed, then. 

Valese gave his palm a soft squeeze as she sighed. “We can leave the hospital if you want? I mean, you’re still gonna need to recover some but you’d probably feel better doing that at home, right?” she suggested.

He felt himself nod, his gaze distant. “I want to go home.”

“Okay. I’ll call your Mom and-”

“No,” Goten said quickly. His Mom would freak. She’d ask a ton of questions he just didn’t have the strength to answer. He just wanted peace and quiet. A place to think. Valese tilted her head quizzically as he looked down at her. “Can I stay with you? For a little bit? If that’s okay.”

Her face softened and she smiled encouragingly. “Of course. If that’s what you want to do.”

He managed a smile too, if only for a moment, then returned to the woman on the other side of the glass. How had things gotten so bad? How had he let this happen? If only he had watched Trunks more carefully. Not drink as much. Why did he get in the car? 

Suddenly, as if the gears finally clicked into place, staring at the woman with more bruising than healthy skin, swollen and broken due to the reckless actions of himself and his friend, Goten frowned deeply. 

Unable to deal with his own problems in a healthy manner, Trunks depended on affection, friends, and substances to disassociate from his worries as if they didn’t exist, if just for a little while. And like a hopeless idiot, Goten followed behind like a love sick puppy, convinced that companionship was enough to bring Trunks home. It had been different when it was just the two of them. Goten wanted to help. Wanted to defend his friend and partner. Wanted to believe Trunks would be able to change on his own time. 

A wave of bitter anger bloomed in Goten’s chest as piercing clarity came. He had been continuously used. Had felt the sting of betrayal and distrust while lying on the ground outside the bar, Trunks’ plastic smile etched on his smug face and the woman hanging on Trunks’ arm eliciting a pang of actual jealousy for his friend’s affection. 

The accident was inevitable. Only now, Goten was out of excuses for Trunks’ self trajectory. 

Goten’s body tensed as he tried to repress a furious energy that threatened to emerge from the painful revelations and overwhelm his naturally carefree nature with a distemper of the sort he hadn’t felt in some years. 

“Where is he?” He gruffly asked as he ground his jaw.

Valese blinked up at him, unaware of the boiling rage just under the surface. It took a second for her to realize who he was asking about. “Trunks? He’s fine. He left yesterday morning. I think Chichi told me he was gonna stay at your brother’s for a while in the mountains.” 

_ With Gohan?  _ That was a strange surprise. What could that mean? 

Seeing the girl, remembering the car, Trunks actively ignoring him and putting not only themselves but an innocent  _ human _ in danger, Goten steeled. The self-indulgent actions that put innocent people in harm’s way was his breaking point. This girl was just a forgettable casualty left in the thoughtless wake of one man’s destructive behavior. And Goten knew the bastard wouldn’t care.

He was done. Narrowing his eyes, Goten was unsure if he could even forgive his childhood brother. 

If staying with Gohan could keep the reckless half Saiyan out of trouble, then so be it. The older halfling would be in the forested cabin without his precious luxuries or booze to keep him occupied. In a world without his vices for comfortable sedation, Trunks would suffer greatly. And deservedly.

“Good,” he said through his gritted teeth held so tight, his jaw hurt. “Fuck him.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Chameleon for betaing this work. I am so very grateful for the support of my friends and readers of this. I have actually added 4 more chapters after breaking some longer chapters and added additional scenes. I cannot express how much the comments, kudos and views mean to me. Thank you all for what you do for this community. 
> 
> Happy reading!!

“How are you feeling today, Trunks?” Videl inquired over her mug of coffee, indigo eyes keen with concern. Gohan and Pan were also seated at the table, giving the same dissecting expression of his well being as they habitually did at every meal since his arrival with the most wholesomely adorkable family alive. And although they probably would have liked for him to answer honestly for once, the purple-haired half Saiyan did his typical morning routine right back: grit his teeth, pouted and ate in silence. 

Trunks was royally pissed off when he awoke on the second morning — and the next, and the next — to his flowery cottage room in the middle of fucking nowhere. By the fourth morning, the vomiting, headaches and hunger had subsided enough to think critically about his situation in his home cooked prison nightmare. If he didn’t think there were worse people who could drag him back tooth and nail or that he’d be unceremoniously cut off from a hefty paycheck from his dear mother _ who’d left him here _ , he would have absolutely said fuck it Day One. Though he was still vehemently convinced he didn't belong, Trunks was more concerned with his mom following through on her threat. Bulma Briefs was not one to mince words. 

Every morning like clockwork, the dawn rose and a chipper knock would sound at his door, informing him to get up and head to breakfast, before trudging through another aggravating session of talking and training. Everyone else in the home rose without complaint at five-fucking-am. As a person who grew up without a curfew, a steady morning routine or hours he didn't set for himself while working at Capsule, waking up before dawn was a direct affront to his already thinned patience. They practically deserved his curt responses to their asinine questioning. They were lucky that’s all he did. 

“Trunks? How are you feeling?” Videl repeated with the same level of gentleness, the same searching gaze.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a hiss, keeping his sarcasm in check while mashing eggs under his fork and scooping the yellowed bit onto a piece of toast.

"At least you’re not puking your guts out anymore. That sound was grosssssss." Pan added with immature emphasis and giggling, while dabbing a forkful of pancakes into gooey syrup. 

There was a distinctive tick pulsing in his cheek as the toast crunched in his hand, expressing his ire. Breathing deep, he held back a myriad of choice quips that were inappropriate to say to a child. Still needed to play nice. 

“Thanks, Pan,” he said tersely. "I'm fine."

Gohan chuckled to himself before addressing him. “So. I would really appreciate it if you gave Videl and me a hand with some chores today.”

Trunks perked up. It was the first time chores came up in their routine. He tried not to show his apprehension. Chores were never really in his wheelhouse of tasks at home.

“You didn’t mention me. Am I not doing chores?” Pan asked with gleeful hope.

“I didn’t mention you because it’s implied. What does implied mean?” Gohan said with a smile while putting on his metaphorical educator hat in questioning his 10-year-old.

“It means I have to, whether I want to or not,” she grumbled.

“Close enough, honey,” Gohan said before bringing his attention back to his charge. “It would be nice if you could clean the guest bathroom. I can show you where the mop and cleansers are.”

Trunks never needed to do chores at home. Everything was automated. It was bullshit being forced to do menial tasks that meant nothing.

Trunks wrinkled his nose. “And if I don't?” he said, rather hostile and testing the waters around Gohan’s island of tranquility. 

Gohan appeared unfazed. “Then you’d probably make my wife very unhappy. And believe me, that’s not a circumstance you’d like to be in.” He said semi-serious, viewing Trunks at an angle over the frames of his glasses. 

A quick sideways glance at Videl made a small prickle of nerves trail across Trunks’ arms as her eyes mirrored the same look in every mother’s face he knew. For half a second, he straightened in his seat until Gohan’s face cracked into a playful laugh and Videl smiled with a roll of her eyes, swatting her husband lightly on the arm. Trunks scoffed and leaned back in his chair, irritated with himself that he momentarily believed  _ Videl _ was genuinely scary.

“Fine,” he acquiesced.  _ But I’m gonna do a shitty job. _

* * *

Chores transitioned into meditation, into banal chatter, into training; all of which Trunks approached half-assed. His obstinance toward wholehearted effort left Gohan a little more peeved than Trunks normally saw him. Good. Maybe his ineffectual jailor would call the whole thing off and let Trunks go home. That would certainly make it easier for all parties involved.

Much to Trunks’ chagrin, Gohan took his bullheaded attitude in true Son stride. Not only did he  _ not _ let Trunks leave, the older man simply became more understanding and encouraging, leaving the younger demi Saiyan in a state of constant irritation at being thwarted through kindness. 

Without him noticing, the first week and a half had elapsed. Trunks’ headaches, nausea and shaking diminished yet the irrational anger remained, taking the form of noncompliance, snarky commentary, and hostility. His sparring efforts were erratic at best. The annoying daily conversation was met with tightlipped antipathy or a curse laden tirade. It was their own damn fault for taking him in. He didn’t ask for any of this. Sure, there was an accident and he felt sorry. Being in the country under lock and key wouldn’t change that, though.

On a Sunday afternoon, two weeks after his internment had begun, Trunks found himself sitting in the empty guest bathtub, head against the outdated tiled wall. A can of soda rested in his pink-gloved hands and the gifted notebook sprawled open across his lap. He flat out ignored the fact he should have been cleaning the toilet and counters, instead flipping through mostly empty pages. He was on half alert to all the little noises and creaks from the rest of the Son family going about their own chores while he sat with the opaque curtain drawn, the can of fizzy sugar water slowly losing carbonation and his ass slowly falling asleep. Gods, he just wanted to kick back with a rum and coke in hand and veg out for a while. The whole situation majorly sucked. 

Tapping his foot repeatedly against the water stained spout in the wall, he stared up at the cracked and yellowing ceiling, finding no solace in the shapes his mind created in the uneven texture. The daily imbibing that had provided a sense of stress relief before had waned and left only an itchy, anxious tension in its place. It was as if his whole body vibrated with unease. An intangible anxiety about work obligations, or a party he was missing, or Goten—especially Goten—would make his thoughts run wild like a record needle skipping in fractured clips as a song tried to play. Attempting to block it out didn’t work and being in the country only made it worse since time flowed as slow as molasses. No sounds from the city, no lights, no people made the thoughts louder. Gods, he just wanted a drink.

Since he arrived, he hadn't heard from anyone on his behalf and it didn't take long to realize they were keeping their distance for a reason. Shut off from civilization, Trunks found himself bored for the first time in years. Sure, punching Gohan in the face everyday had its perks but those sessions only lasted so long. The down time after dinner was the worst, where he’d lay awake for hours with jittery thoughts that made his skin crawl. Eventually, he picked up the stupid journal. 

His musings began as a collection of fragmented introspective sentences, short and without depth. There was always the small worry in the back of his mind that Gohan might snoop on his personal writing, despite the other man’s overtly honest and confidential reassurance. ‘Is mom okay? Wonder what Marron’s doing. Did that girl die? Where’s Goten...’ were mixed in with more belligerent phrases like ‘I fucking hate it here’ in large bold print and written over and over. The journal helped pass the time at least. 

Chore days were especially boring. On this particular Sunday, he tapped the soda can with a metallic plink against his temple while penciling a very nice black hole for his cartoon Gohan to fall into. Momentarily distracted, he missed the sound of padded footsteps passing by the door until they were right up to him.

“Trunks?” 

He jumped at his name said into the echoing room and peeled back the shower curtain enough to glance around the edge. Dark eyes twinkled mischievously as Pan grinned at him, sliding to her knees at his level just outside the tub.

She giggled. “What are you doing?” she chuckle-whispered as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Unruly black hair refused to stay down under her orange bandana.

“Thinking,” he responded and smiled slyly. “And avoiding chores, if you must know.”

During the few weeks he’d been under Gohan’s roof, Pan had proved herself to be the most tolerable. She reminded him of his sister, and often. From day one, she just seemed positively excited to have someone else in the house to play with, even if he was significantly older. She was the only one who didn’t ask questions, having no true understanding as to why he was there in the first place, and for that he was grateful. She was a good kid, if a little too talkative at times. Just like Bulla. 

“Me, too.” She placed a slim hand over her mouth like a secret. 

Also like Bulla, Pan played on her precocious nature, hidden under a polite smile, and occasionally testing her boundaries with her parents. Being an only child, Pan didn't have the luxury of a sibling to cohort. He smirked at the small mischievous efforts of a nine year old and sympathized. 

“Aren't you the little rebel,” he mocked before turning his attention back to his book. She pouted with a sneer before resting a hand at her jutted hip.

“Wanna go hiking tomorrow? You know,  _ after _ Dad beats the crap out of you?” she added. 

“Gohan has never beaten the-” he began, thoroughly insulted, until he looked over at the winking tongue-in-cheek imp giggling to herself. A slight smile found its way to his mouth. Pan 1. Trunks 0. Not that he was keeping track. “That’s not funny, brat.”

“I thought it was,” she replied, poking him in the arm. Before he could get her back, they both startled at the sound of a summons from down the hall.

“Pan? Trunks? Are you guys ready to go?” they heard Gohan call from somewhere in the house.

“Yea, one sec!” Pan replied. 

Trunks made a face suspiciously at the unknown summons. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to my grandparent’s house,” she said gleefully, oblivious to the fact he had paled at the impending outing to the older Son’s.

“We’re going to see Goku. And ChiChi?” He balked. He imagined a trip to see Goten’s furious mother who tended to resort to violence in order to get her point across sounded like a terrible idea. Particularly due to the fact that the last thing he’d heard about her precious second son was that he was still in the hospital. His skull hurt with a phantom ache just from the thought of her famous frying pan coming down on him like hellfire. 

“Yea. That’s what I was gonna tell you.” 

She got up off the floor and skipped to the door. “Coming!” she called back as she took off at a sprint, her footfalls receding into the house. 

With a long groan, Trunks lifted himself from the solitude of the tub and began his slow walk to the front of the house where he assumed the whole  _ happy-go-lucky  _ family was waiting. Why did he have to go? He’d have nothing to say to them anyway. Anxiety churned up as he considered what he could possibly respond with if they did. 

“Fucking great,” he groused as he dug his hands into his pockets. What would he say?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to my lovely beta Chameleon. And thank you, readers, for supporting this fic. I love being part of this fantastic community. Thank you all for sharing it with me 
> 
> Happy reading

Visiting Goku and Chichi’s country cottage was rustic, to say the least. The home had a quiet, simple grandeur about it despite painfully lacking most technology. Losing oneself in the sound of the water from the nearby stream that curved around the land or appreciating the songs sung by birds that flew overhead was effortless by design. The natural beauty of the wilderness never ceased to amaze Trunks, entrenched as he normally was in a world of endless grey concrete and noise. 

As children, the two of them would run through the forest, spar or play pretend in the field, eat homemade food and fall asleep in Goten’s bed from happy exhaustion. Knowing that his childhood best friend grew up in such a polar opposite lifestyle from his own managed to humble the rich kid from West City. Over time, the kid that loved the outdoors recessed and quieted inside the man who grew to prefer the hustle and bustle of the city. Occasionally, Trunks would replay those times at the older Sons’ in a blurry, reminiscent loop when he was overwhelmed with claustrophobia from urbanite pressures. Goku and Chichi house used to be a woodland fortress of respite in the eyes of a 12-year-old boy. 

Sitting at the same wooden table from all those years ago with pretty much the same people, save Videl and Pan, Trunks as the 23- year- old adult, hadn’t felt more out of place in his second childhood home as he did that evening. 

Dinner with the older Sons was definitely worse than at Gohan’s. The atmosphere was that of wholesome family connection sustained by cutesy anecdotes, a light smattering of the thrill of battle, and the predictable discussion of food pricing at the market. At least at Gohan’s, most of the time Videl or Pan would feel comfortable to let their hair down and say something PG-13. 

But at the Sons’, it was downright saccharine. The banal conversation and soft clinking of ceramic plates and cups drove Trunks crazy with a restless anxiety that manifested into stomach knots. The expectation of how he’d be received forced out any appetite he might have had. He managed to chew and swallow a meager amount of food to be outwardly polite but inside, he was roiling.

“-don’t really miss school, Grandma. The homework is too easy. I’ve known how to do fractions since I was 6.” Pan chatted while helping herself to the rest of the wontons.

“Maybe it's just in your genes. You know your father knew how to do fractions at 4.” Chichi preened.

“We just want Pan to go at her own pace. It’s true the school isn't really challenging her.” Videl added, stirring her soup absentmindedly.

“I still have all your books if you’d like them, Gohan.”

“That's very kind, Mom. Really. We have enough.” Gohan chortled as he scratched the back of his head nervously. 

Trunks observed the family with disbelieving puzzlement while agitating his little ball of rice on his nearly empty plate, pretending to eat. How could they just smile and go about a normal conversation while one of their own recovered in a hospital bed? And allow the culprit to sit unpunished at their dinner table? _How can you just ignore that?_ his mind nagged as he tried to keep his breathing even and not bring attention to himself. Without warning, he jumped as he heard someone address him. 

“Would you like more chicken, Trunks?” ChiChi, ever the generous host, offered. The plate piled with grilled meat glistened in its own oily skin in the middle of the table enticingly, yet he shook his head and mumbled ‘no, thank you’ between his teeth.

Ignoring the elephant in the room was far worse than acknowledging it. At least in that regard, he could argue his point. Hell, he’d even take a solid beat down from Goku. Anything was better than this.

It wasn’t until Pan pouted about her upcoming dessert that he perked up. She casually mumbled with vexation about how Uncle Goten would let her have as much ice cream as she wanted if he were there. At his name, all eyes turned to her as if she suddenly sprouted fairy wings and a second head. The tense way the little family tried to avoid Trunks’ gaze, the hushing of an oblivious child, her swift apology citing her ‘forgetfulness’ of a touchy subject, Trunks immediately understood they were actively avoiding the subject of the youngest son. Why? Why spare him their judgment?

At the abrupt change in topic to the harvesting of radishes, Trunks excused himself and exited the dining room before anyone could question him. It was too much. The isolation and forced sobriety made for a conflicting bit of consideration of the past that was as frustrating as it was tiresome.

Over two weeks had elapsed since the accident, since the interview, since he was sharing an apartment with his best friend; under less than optimal circumstances, sure, but they were keeping it together. The incident with Capsule happened and maybe that was somewhat his responsibility. The press conference with the vultures was brutal, so he needed to unwind. He had one too many drinks. He shouldn't have driven. But then why didn’t Goten stop him? He clearly wasn't as far gone as Trunks had been. Right? He could hardly remember that night but Goten should have done something-

Before he could finish his dangerous train of thought, he realized the direction he had been heading under autopilot was out the front door and to the edge of the river where light on water caught his eye. He walked to the edge of the stream that cut through the valley next to the Sons’ home, its bubbling flow reflecting the waxing moon’s beams as they danced on the surface. Trunks closed his eyes, enveloped in the sound of the current and sighed as the flash of memories of their younger selves swimming in that bubbling, loud river,— 

_Wait up, Trunks!_

sparring in the open fields,— 

_C’mon, slowpoke. Run faster!_

playing hide and seek in the forest came back to him in full, unrelenting force. 

_I’m gonna get ya!_

_You’ll never catch me, Goten!_

Being at Goten’s childhood home hurt more than he liked to admit. The stubborn, reinforced walls in his mind began to show cracks. 

“Hey there,” he heard from behind. Trunks wiped his eyes quickly, hiding the beads of wetness that had formed on his eyelashes without his permission.

Trunks turned at the greeting, his breath catching as he made a double-take with the silhouette illuminated by the porch light. _Goten?_ No. He shook his head to clear the false identification as he recognized Goku’s relaxed and smiling face.

Chest aching, he grunted a greeting as he went back to staring off at the river. Goku walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been out here a while.”

Trunks tensed under the friendly hand. The walls reassembled as he scoffed. “Yup. I’m doing fantastic being held against my will at your dork of a son’s house,” he replied mirthlessly.

Goku laughed, unaffected. “Aw c’mon. Gohan’s place is great! At least the mountain one anyway. It’s got an awesome view of the valley, and Pan’s there. If summer wasn’t growin’ season, I’d be over there all the time. It’s a much better house than their city one, if I gotta be honest. West City is too busy for me.”

“I like the city. There are things to do.” Trunks replied with a bored tone as he tossed pebbles into the rushing water.

“Nah, not for me. Too big and confusin’. You could lose track of time there. I know I get confused trying to navigate through it, even to that giant building your Mom lives in.” Goku chuckled deep in his chest, amused by his own joke. 

Trunks tried not to think about the city. His yellow domed house. The company. Or his parents. Instead, he said nothing in response and stared off into the dark treeline where the crescent moon’s glow only hit the leafy canopy then dissolved into blackness. 

As a few more moments passed in Goku’s presence, Trunks became ruffled by his company. If it weren’t for this man, he thought with disdain, he and Goten could have been together. If it weren’t for Goku testing his father’s patience constantly, the two sons could be partners and be happy. If Goku wasn’t so— 

“Ya know, Trunks, I always thought you were a really good kid,” the older Saiyan said, his voice well-intentioned and sincere.

Trunks left his bitter thoughts and turned to look Goku in the eyes. The piercing observation of the otherwise cheerfully aloof man made him uneasy. It was rare and unnerving for the goofiest guy he knew to look at him with such seriousness. 

“Okay?” He replied apprehensively, unsure of where the conversation was headed. 

“I just wanted you to know—Chichi’ll prolly be mad that I said anythin’—You should know it has nothin’ to do with you.”

Trunks drew his guard up warily. “What doesn’t?” he asked, curiously alert. 

“This thing between your Dad and me. I would like to think we’re friends on some level but I get it. He’s still a little raw, all considerin’. The past is a hard thing for him to let go of. I’ll bet you know that better than anyone, being his son and all. Just know that what’s between us, is only between us. It doesn't extend beyond that. It has nothin’ to do with you.”

Trunks waited to see if the older Saiyan had more to say as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. When an uncomfortable amount of silence had elapsed, save for the water lapping at their feet, Goku stood and stretched with a loud groan. “Oh, and if anyone asks, I was out here only to get more firewood. ‘Kay?” 

Trunks canted his head in observation as the older Saiyan, true to the last part at least, retrieved a stack of dried wood and effortlessly slung it onto his shoulder.

Trunks found his voice as he turned and addressed the other man. “You’re not supposed to talk to me or something?” he asked curiously.

“Well, I was told to try not to. Chi said I sometimes say things I’m not supposed ‘ta.,” He grunted adjusting the stack. “And anyways, she never tol’ me what I wasn’t supposed ‘ta say. But you just looked like you needed someone to talk to, is all. You seemed kinda lonely at dinner.”

When Trunks didn’t respond, Goku patted him on the back with his free hand and turned to leave, having expressed what he wanted to and letting the conversation lie. 

Stunned, Trunks couldn’t reason how Goku of all people was privy to personal information between his father and himself. Vegeta would rather eat worms than divulge anything intimate about his life, he was sure of that. Most likely, Goku, in his simple way, had come to the conclusion that whatever happened between Goten and himself was directly related to Vegeta and Goku. Which was annoyingly true. 

The fact that Goku was evidently trying to bridge a gap with him made the information more painful to digest that in the end, Trunks chose to stubbornly ignore it. It didn’t matter what the older man said, Goku was still his father’s rival. Pride and loyalty, and the will to save face, was far more powerful than taking even the smallest olive branch from Earth’s greatest hero.


End file.
